rn  this  book  on  or  before  the 
5t  Date  stamped  below. 


University  of  Illinois  Library 


FE3  o62not 


PRYDEN'S  FABLES 


The  ilbrtry 
of  the 
<Wver$ity  of  WWnoh 


x.a'viUj  (j.eiii'hl,  as  a 


Pilgrim  wlldered  ou.  lii 


CAIj  VIM  B  tiAPTC  [  r  A  E  D , 


FABLES 

7ROM 

BOCCACCIO  AND  CHAUCER. 


JOHN  drydp:n. 


WITH 

A  MEMOIR  OF  THE  AUTHOR, 


less 


MEMOIRS 


OF 


THE    LIFE    AND  WE.TIK08 


Here  let  me  bend,  great  Dryden,  at  thy  shrine, 
Thoii  dearest  name  to  all  the  tuneful  Nine! 
With  strong  invention,  noblest  vigour  fraught, 
Tbought  still  springs  up,  and  rises  out  oi° thought 
Numbers  ennobling  numbers  in  their  course, 
In  varied  sweetness  flow,  in  varied  force; 
The  powers  of  genius  and  of  judgment  join. 
Ana  the  whole  art  of  poetry  is  thine. 


To  jirdge  rightly  of  an  author,  we  must  transport 
Ourselves  to  his  time,  and  examine  what  were  the 
wants  of  his  contemporaries,  and  what  were  the 
means  of  supplying  them*.  The  life  of  Dryden  com- 
prehends a  history  of  the  literature  of  England,  and 
its  changes,  during  nearly  half  a  century.  Our  au- 
thor may  be  considered  as  the  father  of  English 
criticism,  as  the  writer  who  first  taught  us  to  deter- 
mine upon  principles  the  merit  of  composition.  As 
he  wrote  from  necessity,  he  was  obliged  to  pay  a 


OF 


JOHN  DRYDEN. 


•  Johnson's  Life  of  Drydeii. 


Ti 


MEMOIRS  cur  THE 


certain  deference  to  the  public  opiri-ion  ;  "  for  he 
whose  bread  depends  upon  the  success  of  his  volume, 
(says  Sir  Walter  Scott,)  is  compelled  to  study  popu- 
larity." Educated  in  a  pedantic  taste,  Dry  den  wa« 
destined,  if  not  to  give  laws  to  the  stage  of  England, 
at  least  to  defend  its  liberties  ;  to  improve  burlesque 
into  satire ;  to  free  translation  from  the  fetters  o£ 
verbal  metaphrase,  and  to  exclude  it  from  the  license 
of  paraphrase ;  to  teach  ]Tosterity  the  powerful  and 
varied  poetical  harmony  oi  which  their  language  was 
capable  ;  to  give  an  example  of  the  lyric  Ode  of  un- 
approached  excellence ;  and  to  leave  to  English 
literature  a  name  second  only  to  those  of  Milton  and 
of  Shakspeare*. 

From  the  time  cf  the  Restonation  Will  his  death,  the 
poet  produced  yearly  some  new  performance,  allowed 
to  be  most  excellent  in  the  particular  style  which  was 
fashionable  for  the  time  ;  therefore,  if  we  would  know 
the  gradual  changes  which  took  place  in  English 
poetry,  we  must  consult  the  writings  of  our  author. 

John  Dryden  was  born  at  the  parsonage-house  of 
Oldwinkle,  near  Oundle,  in  Northamptonshire,  on  or 
about  the  9th  of  August,  1631.  His  father  was  the 
third  son  of  Sir  Erasmus  Driden,  bart.  of  Canons 
Ashby,  in  the  same  county.  Our  poet  appears  to 
have  received  his  education  at  Westminster,  under 
the  celebrated  Dr.  Busby,  with  whom  he  made  rapid 
progress  in  classical  learning.  As  a  task  he  translated 
the  third  satire  of  Persius,  and  wrote  many  pveces  as 
exercises.  In  1650,  Dryden  was  admitted  in  Trinity 
*  Scott Life  of  DrycJeu. 


LIFE  AND  TTRITINGS  OF  DRYDEN.  fl. 

College,  Cambridge,  where  his  conduct  was  uniformly 
regular,  and  in  1653,  he  took  the  degree  of  Bachelor  of 
Arts.    His  studies,  however,  were  interrupted  by  the 
death  of  his  father,  in  1654 ;  and  he  left  the  university 
to  take  possession  of  an  estate  in  Northamptonshire, 
worth  about  60l,  per  annum;  but  he  subsequently  re- 
turned, and  remained  in  the  college  until  1657.  After 
i     leaving  the  university,  the  poet  was  patronized  by  Sir 
I     Gilbert  Pickering  *,  who  was  a  stanch  refoT<ner,  and 
j     assisted  Cromwell  in  his  privy-council.    Sir  Gilbert, 
however,  was  not  the  only  relative  of  Dryden  in  the 
court  of  Ciomwell,  as  the  elder  brother  of  the  poet's 
father  held  a  lucrative  situation  under  the  Protector. 

The  first  theme  worthy  notice  of  Dryden's  muse,  was 
the  death  of  Cromwell ;  and  the  topics  of  praise  are, 
generally  speaking,  such  as  Cromwell's  worst  enemies 
could  not  have  denied  him  ;  but  as  the  poet  spared 
the  exiled  monarch  in  his  panegyric  on  the  Protector, 
so,  after  the  Restoration,  in  his  numerous  writings 
on  the  side  of  royalty,  there  is  no  instance  of  his  re- 
calling his  former  praise  of  Cromwell.    With  the 
1     return  of  the  king,  the  fall  of  Dryden's  patrons  was 
necessarily  involved  ;  therefore,  as  the  poet  was  then 
left  to  his  own  exertions,  he  testified  his  acquiescence 
i     in  the  Restoration,  first  by  publishin  g.4s^?'ea  Redux  f, 
j     and  next,  by  some  verses  entitled  A  Panegyric  to  his 
[     Sacred  Majesty,  and  for  these  poems  he  was  rewarded 
I     oy  a  handsome  gratuity  J. 

'         *  Sir  G.  Pickering  was  cousin-girman  to  the  poet. 

^  t  A  poem  On  the  Happy  Restoration  of  his  Sacred  Majesty, 
King  Charles  II. 

t  The%e  gratuities  were  accoriling  to  the  fa&hion  of  the  timee. 
TbuH  we  find  the  corporation  of  Hull  hacking  a  poliu  addrsM 


viil 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE 


The  poet  having  no  settled  means  of  support,  (with 
the  exception  of  his  small  estate,)  he  took  lodgings  of  a 
bookselkr ;  and  though  we  are  informed  that  he  wrote 
prefaces  and  occasional  pieces  for  his  landlord,  few 
traces  are  to  be  found  of  the  means  by  which  he  se- 
cured his  place  in  society ;  the  poet,  however,  M'as 
much  attached  to  experimental  philosophy ;  and,  as  one 
proof  of  the  respect  in  which  he  was  held  by  learned 
men,  he  \^*as  chosen  a  member  of  the  Royal  Society. 
Dryden  now  became  fully  sensible  that  it  was  ne- 
cessary he  should  apply  his  talents  in  some  line,  in 
which  he  might  derive  a  more  steady  and  certain 
recompense,  than  by  being  a  literary  labourer  to  a 
bookseller.  Accordingly,  his  next  poem  was  of  greater 
length  and  importance  ;  this  was  Annus  MirabiliSy 
(the  Year  of  Wonders).  In  this  piece  he  excelled 
his  contemporaries  in  powers  of  composition  ;  the 
lines  and  the  versification  were  highly  polished,  and 
the  expression  was  carefully  corrected.  *'  The  Annus 
Mirabilis  (says  Johnson)  may  be  esteemed  as  one  of 
Pryden's  elaborate  pieces." 

Compelled,  undoubtedly,  by  necessity,  (for  he  does 
not  appear  to  have  ever  been  much  pleased  with  his 
dramas,)  he  commenced  writing  for  the  stage  ;  '*  and 
when  he  once  invaded  the  stage  (says  Johnson)  he 
kept  possession  of  it  for  many  years,  not  indeed  with- 
out the  competition  of  rivals,  who  sometimes  prevailed, 
or  the  ceiisure  of  critics,  which  was  often  poignant  and 
just ;  but  with  such  a  degree  of  reputation,  as  made 
him  secure  of  being  heard,  whatever  might  be  the  final 

to  the  Dul<e  of  r  ionmouth,  their  governor,  with  a  present  of 
fix  broad  pieces. 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  DRYDEN.  ll 


determination  of  the  public.  I  wisli  (continues  the 
Doctor)  that  tnere  were  no  necessity  of  following  the 
progress  of  his  theatrical  fame,  or  of  tracing  the 
meanders  of  his  mind  through  the  series  of  his  dra- 
matic performances  ;  it  will  be  fit,  however,  to  enu- 
merate them,  and  to  take  especial  notice  of  those 
which  are  distinguished  by  any  peculiarity;  for  the 
composition  and  fate  of  twenty-eight  dramas  include 
too  much  of  a  poetical  life  to  be  oaiitted." 

His  first  piece  was  the  comedy  of  The  Wild  Gallant, 
which  was  acted  in  1662-3  without  success;  but  the 
beautiful  Duchess  of  Cleveland  extended  her  protec- 
tion to  the  unfortunate  performance,  and  caused  it  to 
be  played  more  than  once  before  Charles  II.* 

The  Rival  Ladies,  a  play  in  rhyme,  was  our  author's 
next  dramatic  essay ;  it  was  acted  in  l663,  and  pub- 
lished in  the  year  following,  with  a  dedication  to  the 
Earl  of  Orrery.  This  tragi-comedy  was  well  received, 
and  probably  of  some  advantage  to  the  author.  In 
1663-4,  he  assisted  Sir  Robert  Hovvard  in  the  campo- 
sition  of  a  rhyming  play,  called  The  Indian  Queen, 
which  was  acted  with  great  applause  f. — In  1660,  The 
Indian  Emperor  was  produced,  which  drew  upon  the 
author  the  attention  of  the  public  in  an  eminent 
degree.  It  ia  a  tragedy  in  rhyme,  and  was  dedicated 
to  the  Duchess  of  Monmouth,  who  had  it  in  her  power 

*  This  piece  furnished  matter  foT  a  lively  scene  in  The  Re- 
hearsal, of  whicti  mention  will  presently  be  made. 

+  Our  author's  friendship  with  Sir  R.  Hovvard,  introduced 
him  10  the  family  of  the  Earl  of  Berkshire,  and  the  poet  seon 
gained  the  atfrctioiisofthe^earl  's  eldest  d-aug;hter  ;  the  matth, 
however,  was  not  altogether  agreeable  to  the  lady's  family, 
nor  was  mutuiil  hippiness  found  bj  the  parties  who  had 
lormed  the  en(j;agem  ::ui. 


X  MEMOIRS  OK  THE 

ti/  serve  Dryden  witk  some  effect. — In  the  same 
year,  he  published  his  celebrated  Essay  on  Dramatic 
Poetry  ;  an  elegant  and  an  instructive  composition, 
which  he  carefully  revised  in  1684,  and  then  dedi- 
cated it  to  Lord  Bwickhurst.  Dryden 's  fame  as  an 
author  was  droubtless  exalted  by  his  Essay  on  Dra- 
matic Poesy,  which  showed  tliat  he  could  not  only 
write  plays,  but  defend  them  when  written  :  and  it 
was  probably  after  the  Essay  appeared,  that  our 
author  entered  into  a  contract  with  the  King's  Com- 
pany of  players,  to  produce  three  plays  in  the  course 
of  the  vear*. — In  1667,  The  IMaiden  Queen,  a  tragi- 
comedy, was  represented  ;  and  the  credit  of  the  piece 
was  redeemed  by  the  comic  part,  which  is  a  light  and 
an  airy  representation  of  the  fashionable  and  licentious 
manners  of  the  times  in  which  the  piece  was  written. 
This  drama  was  followed  by  The  Tempest,  an  altera- 
tion of  the  play  by  Shakspeare,  in  which  Dryden  as- 
sisted Sir  William  Davenant  ;  and  The  Tempest 
.seems  to  have  succeeded  to  the  utmost  wish  of  the 
authors f. — Sir  Martin  Mar-all  was  our  author's  next 
production,  which  was  attended  with  complete  suc- 
cess, as  it  was  played  four  times  at  court,  and  above 
thirty  times  at  the  theatre  J.  I'he  Evening's  Love, 
or  the  Mock  Astrologer,  was  also  produced  in  I668; 

*  In  consideration  of  this  enirapcment,  Dryilen  was  admitted 
to  hold  a  share  in  the  profiisof  the  theatre  ;  but  thepoet  niver 
produced  more  than  half  the  quantity  contracted  for.  Dr. 
Johnson  says,  the  agreement  was  for  four  plays  in  each  year. 

t  As  a  counterpart  of  Shakspeare's  pJot,  the  authors  iiitr«»- 
diied  a  man  who  had  never  seen  a  women,  and  also  furui»li«i^ 
Caliban  with^a  monster  sister.  • 

t  This  play  was  produced  in  1668  ;  but  it  did  cot  •pv^U 
with  Dryden's  name  until  1697. 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  DBTDEN, 


and  in  the  preface  to  this  piece,  he  justified  hirasell 
from  the  charge  of  plagiarism. — The  poet  was  bow  ?o 
much  distinguished,  that  in  1668,  he  succeeded  S-ii  W. 
Davenant,  as  poet-laureat*. — Tyrannic  Love,  or  the 
Royal  I\Iartyr,  was  acted  in  1069,  a  heroic  tragedy, 
and  had  a  large  share  of  applause.  He  next  pro- 
duced (in  I67O-I)  those  two  singular  plays,  The  Con- 
quest of  Granada,  "written  (says  Johnson)  with  a 
determination  to  glut  the  public  with  dramatic  won* 
ders but  both  these  plays  were  received  with  en- 
thusiastic applause. 

!  Dryden,  however,  was  now  to  experience  the  incon- 
veniences of  elevation,  and  to  sustain  an  attack  upoa 
the  style  of  wdting  which  he  had  practised.  The 
witty  farce  of  The  Rehearsal  was  produced  by  the 
joint  efforts  of  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  Butler,  the 
author  of  Hudibras,  Sprat,  afterwards  Bishop  of  Ro- 
chester, and  Martin  Clifford,  afterwards  Master  of  the 
Charter-house  ;  and  that  the  public  might  be  at  no 
loss  to  assign  the  character  of  Bayes  to  the  laureat, 
all  Dryden' s  best  plays  were  parodied,  his  peculiarities 
of  language  were  .strictly  copied,  and  the  actor  wore  a 
dress  exactly  resembling  the  poet's  usual  habit  f. 
The  play  met  with  a  stormy  reception,  on  the  first 
night  of  representation  ;  but  finally  the  audience  w-aa 

•  The  office  of  rovtal  historiographer  became  vacant  in  166fi, 
and  the  situation  of'  poet-laureat  in  166S.  These  two  offices, 
with  a  salary  of  200Z.,  and  an  annual  butt  of  Canary,  were  con- 
ferred upon  Dryden,  "  for  bis  learning,  and  eminent  abilities, 
and  his  great  skill  and  elegant  style,  both  in  verse  and  prose." 
Jaiwes  II.  subsequently  added  lOOi.  per  year  to  the  poet's 

■f  About  the  same  period,  there  were  several  pamphlets  and 
fuRit-!-'?  pieces  published  against  Dryden.  He  was  also  severely 
beai«u  by  hired  tuffiaus  as  he  was  passing  through  a  street  in 
Covent-|;ardea. 


MEM  OIKS  OP  THA 


drawn  in  its  favour,  and  then  the  success  of  The 
Rehearsal  was  unbounded.  The  ridicule  cast  uport 
heroic  p!ays,  however,  did  not  prevent  their  being  still 
exhibited  ;  but  Dryden  did  not  trust  to  his  powers  of 
numbers  in  his  Marriage  A-la-Mode,  a  tragi- comedy, 
a  piece  eminently  successful,  which  he  dedicated 
vo  the  Earl  of  Rochester,  and  the  compliment  was 
handsomely  acknowledged.  The  Assignation  was  als9 
brought  forward  in  16/2,  and  driven  olT  the  stage, 
**  against  the  opinion  (says  the  writer)  of  many  of  the 
best  judges." — Amboyna,  a  tragedy,  a  temporary  per- 
formance in  the  time  of  the  Dutch  war,  (l673,)  was 
suddenly  dismissed. — Our  poet's  pen  was  next  en- 
gaged (1674)  on  a  dramatic  poem,  called  the  State  of 
Innocence*;  *'  a  tragedy  (says  Johnson)  in  rhyme, 
but  <yf  which  the  personages  are  such  as  cannot 
decently  be  exhibited  on  the  stage." — Dryden's  next 
tragedy  Aureng-Zebe  appeared  in  1675,  and  was 
acted  with  general  applause. — In  l677>  he  produced 
All  for  Lovet ;  in  which  "  he  has  recommended,  as 
laudable  and  worthy  of  imitation,  that  conduct  that 
through  all  ages,  the  good  have  censured  as  vicious, 
and  the  bad  despised  as  foolish  J  ;"  but  the  play  was 
nevertheless  received  with  universal  approbation.  In 
1678,  the  comedy  of  Limberham  was  acted,  which, 
after  the  third  night,  was  prohibited,  as  too  indecent 
for  the  stage.  In  conjunction  with  Lee,  the  tragedy 
of  CEdipus  was  produced  in  1678-9,  Avith  some'^favour. 
Dryden  altered  Shakspeare'a  Troilus  and  Cressida, 

•  This  was  no  other  than  thatofnew  mudcHiiif  the  ParadiN 
l^st  of  Milton, 
f  An  alteration  of  Shakspcare's  Ai.  ony  and  Cleopatra. 
t  Jobnsou*«  Life  of  Drydej, 


LIFE  AND  WRiTINGS  OF  DRYDEN.  xiil 


whick  the  author  left  in  a  state  of  strange  imperfec- 
tion, resembling  more  a  chronicle  than  a  dramatic 
piece.  The  altered  play  was  first  acted  in  16/9,  and 
the  last  scene  of  the  third  act  is  considered  to  be  a 
master--piece.  Dryden  prefixed  to  this  drama  his  ex- 
cellant  remarks  on  The  Grounds  of  Criticism  in 
Tragedy. — Our  author's  most  euccessful  tragi -comedy 
The  Spanish  Friar,  w<i3  acted  in  1681,  and  is  eminent 
for  the  happy  coincidence  and  coalition  of  two  plots. 
It  is  an  interesting  play,  and  was  deservedly  a  fa- 
Tourifee  with  the  public. 

In  1681,  our  author  became  conspicuous  by  uniting 
politics  with  poetry  in  the  memorable  satire  (in  two 
parts)  of  Absalom  and  Achitophel  *,  in  which  personal 
satire  was  applied  in  support  of  public  principles. 
The  poem  is  written  in  the  style  of  a  scriptural  allusion, 
and  its  sale  was  rapid  beyond  example  f.  In  the 
same  year  Dryden  published  Tlie  Medal,  of  which  the 
subject  is  a  medal  struck  on  Lord  Shaftesbury's  es- 
cape from  a  prosecution ;  but  in  the  satire,  his  lord- 
ship's licentious  course  of  life  is  exposed  to  contempt 
and  reprobation.  The  Medal  was  answered  by  the 
same  weak  authors  who  replied  to  the  previous  satire. 
But  the  reiterated  attacks  of  Shadwell  merited  a  se- 
vere castigation  ;  and  for  that  purpose,  in  l682,  our 
poet  composed  the  satire  of  Mac  Flecknoe,  in  which 
the  vices  and  the  follies  of  Shadwell  are  not  concealed. 
This  piece  was  followed  by  the  poem  of  Religio 
Laid,  which  has  a  political  tendency,  though  writtea 
to  defend  the  church  of  England  against  the  sectaries* 

•  From  Achi,  my  brother,  and  tophel,  a  fool. 

f  The  Mcond  part  of  t  lis  p«em  was  published  in  16S2. 


xir 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE 


And  here  it  may  be  sufficient  to  state  that  the  modelt 
of  satire  afforded  by  Drydcn,  are  superior  to  all  that 
had  ever  preceeded  them. 

After  a  loner  and  an  expensive  warfare,  the  twa 
theatrical  companies  united  their  forces,  and  by  the 
united  company  The  Duke  of  Guise  (the  joint  pro- 
duction of  Drj^den  and  Lee)  was  performed  in  l682  t 
this  tragedy  was  succeeaea  in  1085  by  tne  musical 
drama  of  Aloion  and  Albanius  ;  but  the  news  of  the 
Duke  of  Monmouth's  invasion,  which  was  receWpd 
while  the  piece  was  being  performed  for  the  sixth 
time,  was  the  d.-rath-blow  to  this  drama. 

Dryden's  political  and  polemic  discussions,  natu- 
rally interfered  with  his  general  poetical  studies  i  for 
between  the  accession  of  James  and  the  Revolution, 
he  only  produced  his  first  Ode  to  St.  Cecilia,  for  the 
festival  in  168/.  But  when  he  was  removed  from  his 
situation  of  laureat,  &c.  (at  the  time  of  the  accession 
of  William  and  Marv.)  the  theatre  again  became  hia 
immediate  resource  ;  and  in  169O,  he  introduced  his 
beautiful  tragedy  of  Don  Sebastian,  v^th  great  the- 
atrical pomp  ;  and  the  play  maintained  a  high  degre* 
of  public  favour  for  many  years,  and  deserved  to 
maintain  that  favour  for  ever.  In  the  same  year, 
his  comedy  of  Amphitryon  was  acted  with  great  ap» 
plause.  In  I69I,  he  produced  the  opera  of  King 
Arthur,  whicb  eminently  successful ;  but  its  suc- 
cessor, (in  1692)  the  tragedy  of  Cleoraenes  was  very 
coolly  received.  We  will  now  close  his  dramatic 
career  by  mentioning  that  his  last  play,  Love  Tri- 
umphant was  acted  in  I694,  with  very  bad  success; 
though  the  writer  declares  *'  that  the  chax»acter3  in 


LIKE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  DRYDEN.  XT 


the  drama  are  truly  drawn,  the  fable  not  injudiciously 
contrived,  and  the  catastrophe  happily  introduced." 

It  appears  Drydcn  never  made  by  a  single  play 
more  than  100^.,  even  by  the  accumulated  gain  of  the 
third  night,  the  dedication,  and  the  copy.  His  pro- 
R)gues,  however,  were  so  much  esteemed,  that  when 
Southerne  requested  a  prologue  from  our  poet,  the 
usual  compliment  of  two  guineas  was  offered ;  but  the 
laureat  demurred,  and  insisted  upon  three  guineas  ;  and 
added,  "  the  players  have  had  my  goods  too  cheap  1'* 

We  must  now  consider  Dryd-en  as  unconnected 
with  the  stage. 

As  the  accession  of  James  II.  excited  new  hopes  ia 
all  orders  of  men,  and  all  hastened  in  "sugared  ad- 
dresses" to  lament  the  sun  which  had  set,  and  to  hail 
the  beams  of  that  which  had  arisen  ;  in  his  Threno" 
dia  Augustalis,  Dryden  at  once  paid  a  tribute  to  the 
memory  of  the  deceased  monarch,  and  decently  soli- 
cited the  attention  of  his  successor.  But  *'  little  was 
the  IMuses'  hire,  and  light  their  gain;"  and  the 
** pension  of  a  prince's  praise"  is  stated  to  hare 
been  all  their  encouragement. 

But  perhaps  the  most  remarkable  incident  in  the 
poet's  life,  was  his  conversion  to  the  Catholic  faith, 
which  took  place  soon  after  the  accession  of  James ; 
and  in  spite  of  all  that  has  been  urged  by  his  enemies 
to  the  contrary,  we  have  sufficient  evidence  in  the 
present  day  to  prove,  that  his  conve»sion  was  effected 
by  sincere  conviction  ;  although  it  is  true  "he  was  a 
servant  of  the  court,  and  zealously  attached  to  the 
person  of  James,"    We  conceive  his  religious  prin- 


xvi 


IIEMOIRS  OF  THE 


ciples  may  be  found  in  the  poet's  o\ni  lines,  in  The 
Hind  and  the  Panther,  where  he  says  : — 

My  tlioiightless  youth  was  \ring:'d  with  vain  desiret  ; 
My  inaiihoo<l  lonpr  mislt-d  by  wandering  fires  ; 
Follow'd  false  lights  ;  and  wht<t\  their  glimpse  wai  gone, 
My  pride  struck  out  new  sparkles  of  her  own." 

Drj'den  never  was  a  steady  believer  in  the  protestant 
doctrines ;  but  his  disposition  to  believe  in  Christi- 
anity wa-s  obvious.  His  conversion  was  not  of  that 
sordid  kind,  which  is  the  consequence  of  a  strong 
temporal  interest.  He  applied  the  arguments  of 
Chillingworth  to  himself,  *'th<it  there  must  be  some- 
where an  infallible  judge,  and  the  church  of  Rome  is 
the  only  Christian  society  which  either  does  or  can 
pretend  to  that  character."  But  we  are  enarbled  to 
judge  of  Dryden's  sincerity  in  his  new  faith,  by  the 
determined  firmness  with  which  he  retained  it.  After 
the  Revolution,  his  religion  disqualified  him  from  re- 
maining as  poet-laureat ;  though  had  he  followed  the 
game  course  as  many  others,  there  is  no  question  he 
would  have  been  left  in  quiet  possession  ;  "  but,  (says 
Dryden,)  I  can  never  go  an  inch  beyond  my  own 
conscience  and  my  honour.  If  the  court  will  con- 
sider me  as  a  man  who  has  done  his  best  to  improve 
the  language,  and  especially  the  poetry  of  his  coun- 
try, and  will  be  content  with  my  acquiescence  to  the 
government,  and  forbearing  satiie  on  it,  that  I  can 
promise  ;  but  I  can  neither  take  the  oaths,  nor  for- 
sake my  religion,  because  I  know  not  what  church  to 
go  to  if  I  leave  the  Catholic." 

It  may,  nevertheless,  easily  be  imagined,  that  our 
author  was  not  long  suffered  to  remain  idle  in  the 


tlFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  DRYDKN.  XTl. 


cause  which  he  had  adopted.  He  was  enlisted  to  de- 
Tend  the  conrersion  of  the  Duchess  of  York  to  the 
Catholic  faith,  and  likewise  the  controversial  papers 
found  in  a  strong  box  of  the  late  Charles  II.,  against 
the  attacks^of  Stillingfleet,  Burnet,  and  others.  When 
Stillingfieet  returned  to  the  charge,  he  was  no  way 
sparinif  of  invective  ;  Dryden,  however,  took  his  re- 
venge on  his  adversaries  generally,  in  his  polemical 
poem  of  The  Hind  and  the  Panther  *  ;  and  perhaps 
none  of  his  productions  contain  finer  lines  than  th^se 
in  which  he  takes  credit  for  the  painful  exertion  of 
Christian  forbearance,  when  called  by  injured  feeling 
to  resent  personal  accusation.    He  5ays : — 

*•  If  joys  hereafter  must  be  purchased  here 
With  loss  of  all  that  mortals  hold  so  dear, 
Then  welcome  infamj-  and  public  shame, 
And  last,  a  long  farewell  to  worldly  fame  \  " 

The  Hind  and  the  Panther,  of  course,  was  assailed  by 
the  usual  crowd  of  inferior  satirists  and  pamphleteers, 
each  of  whom  considered  himself  worthy  of  very  dis- 
tinguished and  weighty  recompense  for  his  labour f; 
yet  in  the  midst  of  this  weak  opposition,  two  or  three 
editions  of  the  poem  were  rapidly  disposed  of. 

Our  poet  was  employed  by  the  court  in  translating 
Varilla's  History  of  Heresies,  a  work  held  in  consider- 
able estimation  by  Catholic  divines,  a  task  for  some 
reason  which  he  ultimately  abandoned.  He  next  was 

*  *•  A  poem  in  which  the  church  of  Rome,  figured  by  the 
milk-white  Hind,  defen<ls  her  tenets  against  the  church  o*" 
England,  represented  by  the  Panther,  a  beast  beautiful  ba 
•potted."— Jo /in5on. 

t  Prior,  who  assisted  in  the  production  or  a  piece  '.ermcd 
The  City  iVloase,  was  disb-Jtisfied  with  his  share  otpreferui«Dt* 
b 


MEMOIRS  OF  TBB 


engaged  to  translate  the  life  of  St.  Francis  Xa\'ier,  a 
work  from  which  much  curious  information  may  be 
obtained  relative  to  the  state  of  India  and  Japan  at  tlia 
time  of  Xavier's  mission,  as  well  as  of  the  intern*! 
regulations  adopted  by  the  socrety,  of  which  the  trans- 
lator was  a  member. 

Yet  whatever  pecu.niary  or  other  hopes  Dryden 
might  have  formed,  concerning  his  works  favourable 
to  the  cause  of  James  and  the  Cathol'c  religion,  they 
were  suddenly  and  for  ever  blighted  by  the  Kcvolu* 
lion,  thi^ugh  it  docs  not  appear  that  his  critical  em- 
pire was  in  the  least  interrupted.  His  supremacy 
w-as  so  well  Citablished  at  Will's  coffee-house*,  that 
a  pinch  out  of  LVyden's  snuff-box  was  equal  to  taking; 
a  degree  in  that  academy  of  wit. 

In  1692,  our  author,  with  the  assistance  of  his  two 
sons,  Congreve,  Tate,  and  others,  was  enabled  to 
publish  a  complete  version  of  the  Satires  of  Juvenal 
and  of  Persius.  Dryden  . also  made  translations  from 
Lucretius,  Theocritus,  fhe  Odes  of  Horace,  and  other 
classical  welters  ;  and  from  the  success  of  these  mis- 
cellaneous pieces^  the  poet  tun>ed  his  thoughts  to  the 
translation  of  Virgil,  the  most  laborious  and  difficult 
of  all  his  works.  In  1697,  about  three  years  after  the 
work  had  been  undertaken,  the  translation  was  pre- 
sented to  the  public  ;  *'  the  most  noble  and  spirited 
(said  Pope)  which  I  know  in  any  language."  So 
eager  was  the  general  expectation,  that  the  first 

•  The  resort  of  Conpreve,  Souther*e,  Dennis  the  critic, 
and  alHiost  all  the  distiivgiiished  persons  of  the  time.  The 
coU'ee-lvouse  Mas  situated  at  the  eud  of  Uow<f;reet|  CoTrat- 
tardea. 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  LRYDEN.  XiX 


edition  was  disposed  of  in  a  few  months,  and  a 
second  published  in  the  following  year*.  *'  This 
work  (says  Johnson)  satisfied  his  friends,  and  for  the 
most  part  silenced  his  enemies  f."  Tonson,  the  book- 
seller, was  anxious  that  Dryden  should  inscribe  this 
work  to  king  "William  ;  but  the  poet  held  fast  to  his 
integrity,  and  no  prospect  of  personal  advantage  could 
induce  him  to  take  a  step  inconsistent  with  his  reli- 
gious and  political  sentiments.  Upon  Virgil  and 
other  translations.  Garth  observes  :  *'  As  a  translator, 
Dryden  was  just ;  as  an  inventor,  he  was  rich  ;  and 
his  versions  give  him  a  fair  pretence  to  that  compli- 
ment which  was  made  to  a  celebrated  Frenchman, 
*  It  is  uncertain  who  have  the  greatest  obligation  to 
him,  the  dead  or  the  living.'  " 

While  Dryden  was  engaged  with  his  great  trans- 
lation, he  found  leisure  to  prepare  a  prose  version  of 
Fresnoy's  Art  of  Painting,  in  which  he  drew  a  parallel 
between  painting  and  poetry  ;  and  Virgil  was  scarcely 
finished,  before  he  again  distinguished  himself  by  the 
immortal  Cde  to  Saint  Cecilia.  The  task  was  under- 
taken at  ehe  earnest  solicitation  of  the  St.  Cecilian 
Society ;  and  even  in  the  author's  time,  that  sublime 
production  was  received  with  all  the  appl&^ise  which 
its  unrivalled  excellence  demanded  J.  *'  A  nobler  Ode 
never  was  produced,  nor  never  will  be  produced  !" 

*  There  were  two  sets  o.r  subscribers  to  Vir°:il,  fir.  101  at  five 
guineas  each,  and  25U  at  two  guineas  each  Jt  is  presumed  the 
poet  derived  about  ],300i.  by  this  work. 

t  Swift  must  be  reckoned  among  the  exceptions.  See  Tale 
•J  a  Tub. — The  wit  of  Swift  was  also  levelled  aftrtinst  the  poet 
for  his  triple -dedication  of  the  Pastorals,  Georgics,  and  £neid, 
lo  three  several  patrons,  Clifford,  Chesterfield  and  Mulgrave. 

t  Drj'den  said  in  •  letter  to  Toii«on,     I  am  glad  lo  bear 


SX  MEMOiaS  OF  THE 

It  is  afftcting  to  relate,  that  the  state  of  the  poet*a 
circumstances  rervdered  constant  literary  labour  ne- 
cessary for  the  support  of  his  family,  although  the 
exertion  and  the  confinement  considerably  impaired 
his  health.  But  the  last  work  which  engaged  our 
author's  attention,  was  his  Fables  ;  and  we  find  that 
early  in  I699,  he  put  into  Tonson's  hands  '*  7,500 
verses,  more  or  less,  being  a  delivery  in  part  of  10,000 
verses,  which  he  agreed  to  furnish  for  two  hundred 
and  fifty  guineas,  to  be  made  up  three  hundred 
pounds  in  the  event  of  a  second  edition."  The 
Fables  of  Dryden  are  the  best  examples  of  his  talents 
as  a  narrative  poet.  The  Knight's  Tale  possesses  a 
degree  of  regularity  which  might  satisfy  the  severest 
critic ;  indeed,  in  each  of  the  Fables,  the  poet  has  dis- 
played the  superiority  of  his  genius,  by  ornamenting 
those  passages  most  susceptible  of  poetical  descrip- 
tion. The  account  of  the  fairy  chivalry  in  the  Flower 
and  the  Leaf,  the  powerful  description  of  the  battle, 
and  of  the  champions  who  assisted  at  the  tou»na- 
ments,  in  the  Knight's  Tale,  are  splendid  specimens 
of  poetry.  "  The  Knight's  Tale  is  a  story  which  ex- 
Hausts  in  its  conclusion  all  the  interest  that  it  has  excited 
in  its  progress,  and  which,  when  terminated,  leaves 
no  question  to  be  asked,  no  personage  undisposed  of, 
and  no  curiosity  unsatisfied,  is,  abstractedly  consi- 
dered, more  gratifjing  than  the  history  of  a  few  weeks 
of  a  ten  years'  war,  commencing  long  after  the  siege 
had  begun,  and  ending  long  before  the  city  was 

from  all  bands  that  my  Ode  is  esteemed  the  best  of  all  my 

Soetry."  The  poet  was  paid  4Ui.  for  bii  Ode  by  the  Cecilian 
OL-iety. 


LIFE  AXD  WRITINGS  OV  :5aYDEN,  XXl 


taken The  Fables  were  published  early  iii  1/00  ; 
and  in  the  beautiful  dedication  the  poet  alluded  to  his 
long  and  honourable  connexion  with  the  Ormond 
family.  He  says,  *'  I  have  been  esteemed  and  pa- 
tronized by  the  grandfather,  the  father,  and  the  son, 
iiescended  from  one  of  the  most  conspicuous  and  most 
deserving  families  in  Europe  f." 

The  end  of  Dryden's  labours  was  now  fast  approach- 
ing. The  poet  had  Ion  g  suffered  both  by  the  gout  and 
the  gravel,  and  more  lately,  erysipelas  seized  one  of  his 
legs  ;  and  a  slight  inflammation  in  one  of  his  toes  be 
came  from  neglect,  a  gangrene  J.  After  a  short  interval 
Dry  den  died  at  his  residence  in  Gerrard- street, 
the  1st  of  May,  1^00.  He  was  sensible  till  nearly  hi« 
last  moments  ;  and  he  died  in  the  Roman  Catholic 
faith,  with  entire  resignation  to  the  Divine  Will ; 
*'  taking  of  his  friends  so  tender  and  obliging  a  fare- 
well, as  none  but  he  himself  could  have  expressed,** 

His  family  prepared  to  bury  him  with  a  decency 
becoming  their  limited  circumstances,  when  several 
men  of  quality  made  a  subscription  for  a  public  fune- 
ral. The  body  was  embalmed,  and  laid  in  state  in  the 
Physicians'  Colleg'..  On  the  13th  of  May,  Dr.  Garth 
pronounced  a  LatiL  oration  over  the  remains  of  his 
departed  friend,  which  were  then  preceded  by  a  nu- 

•  Life  of  Dryden  by  Scott. 

*  It  is  supposetl  the  Duchess  of  Ortnond  presented  the  pcet 
w.th  5()0i.  when  he  placed  in  the  hands  of  her  grace  a  ropy  of 
his  Fables. 

1  To  prevent  mortification,  an  eminent  surgevr  proposed  tc 
amputate  the  limb  ;  to  which  Uryden  replied:  **ThatMiewat 
an  old  man,  and  ha<t  not  long  to  live  by  course  of  nature,  an«^ 
therefore  did  not  care  to  part  wi throne  limb  at  such  an  age^  t6 
pmcrve  an  uncomfortable  life  ttt  rest." 


zxii 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE 


merous  procession  of  carriages,  and  deposited  in  , 
Westminster  Abbey,  where  a  simple  monument* 
distinguishes  the  place  of  the  poet's  interment.  The  ; 
story  of  the  interruption  of  the  funeral  by  L-ord  Jef- 
feries,  has  been  shown  by  Mr.  Malone  to  be  destitute  ; 
of  foundation  ;  but  the  malice  of  Dryden's  contem-  ' 
poraries,  which  he  had  experienced  through  life,  at- 
tempted to  turn  into  burlesque  even  his  funeral 
honours  f. 

Dryden  is  represented  as  most  amiable  in  disposition 
and  moral  in  character.  **  Indeed  (says  Mr.  CoRgreve) 
he  had  personal  qualities  to  challenge  both  love  and 
esteem  from  all  who  were  truly  acquainted  with  him. 
He  was  of  a  nature  exceedingly  humane  and  compas- 
sionate ;  easily  forgiving  injuries,  and  capable  of  a 
prompt  and  sincere  reconciliation."  His  reading 
was  extensive,  his  memory  peculiarly  retentive,  com- 
municative of  his  knowledge,  ready  and  gentle  in  kis 
correction  of  the  errors  of  any  writer  who  thought  fit 
to  consult  him,  and  quite  as  ready  and  patient  to  ad- 
mit of  the  reprehension  of  others,  in  respect  of  his 
own  oversight  or  mistakes.  "  He  was  .'continues 
Congreve)  of  all  the  men  I  ever  knew,  one  of  the  most 
modest,  and  the  most  easily  to  be  discountenanced  in  • 
his  approaches,  either  to  his  superiors  or  his  equals.** 
His  conduct  as  a  father,  husband,  and  master  of  a 

♦  Erected  by  the  Duke  of  Buckingham. 

+  At  the  time  of  Dryden's  tieath,  his  I'amily  consisted  of  his 
M'ife  and  three  sons,  who  were  but  slenderly  provided  for. 
I  wo  of  the  sons  held  situations  in  Rome  ;  and  the  patrimonial 
estate  and  the  liberality  of  the  fri°«ids  of  the  poet  formed  an 
ncomeof  ab^iit  )OQl  a  year  for  thl^nlaintel>l^lce  vf  his  widowr 
sad  bit  eldest  %»a> 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  DRYDEN.  XXU 

family,  was  affectionate  and  faithful,  and  liberal  and 
benevolent  as  far  as  his  circumstances  admitted.  He 
was  esteemed,  admired,  and  courted  by  all  the  great 
men  of  the  age  in  which  he  flourished.  In  the  change 
of  his  cpinions,  both  religious  and  political,  Dryden 
must  have  acted  from  conviction  ;  since,  if  personal 
interest  liad  been  his  ruling  motive,  it  certainly  would 
have  operated  at  the  time  of  the  Revolution. 

For  about  forty  years,  however,  Dryden 's  literary 
and  personal  character  w-as  the  object  of  assault  by 
every  subaltern  scribbler.  The  poet  himself  has  said, 
"  My  morals  have  been  sufficiently  aspersed;  that 
only  sort  of  reputation  which  ought  to  be  dear  to  every 
honest  man,  and  is  to  me."  Bishop  Burnet  said  of 
Dryden  "  He  was  the  greatest  master  of  dramatic 
poesy,  and  a  monster  of  immodesty  and  impurity.** 
This  clumsy  censure  called  forth  an  animated  reply 
from  Lord  Lansdovvn,  who  observed,  "  That  all  who 
knew  the  poet  could  testify  that  such  was  not  his 
character.  Dryden  was  so  much  a  stranger  to  im- 
modesty, that  modesty  in  too  great  a  degree  was  his 
failing  :  he  hurt  his  fortune  by  it,  complained  of  it, 
but  never  could  overcome  it.  If,  however,  I  may 
have  leave  to  say  it,  Dryden's  poems  will  last  as  long 
as  the  Bishop's  sermoi* a,  supposing  them  to  be  equally 
excellent  in  tkeir  kind." 

The  license  of  our  author's  comedy,  certainly  had 
the  apology  of  universal  example  ;  for  it  must  be  re- 
collected he  wrote  in  the  hey-day  of  the  merry  mo^ 
march's  reign.  Dr.  Johnson  has  likewise  censured  in 
severe  terms  the  extreme  flattery  of  Dryden's  dedi- 
cations ;  but  th«  form  of  address  to  superiors  must 


XXIY 


MEMOIRS  OF  TITE 


also  be  judged  of  by  the  manners  of  the  times  :  per- 
haps the  adulation  contained  in  dedications  was  then 
as  much  a  matter  of  course,  as  the  submissive  words 
which  still  precede  the  subscription  of  an  ordinary 
letter ;  yet  the  writer  might  plead  the  excuse,  that 
*'  having  enemies,  he  made  himself  friends  by  panegy- 
rics.'* In  after  life,  Dryden  had  the  magnanimity  to 
say  :  I  plead  guilty  to  all  thoughts  and  expressions 
of  mine,  which  can  be  truly  argued  of  obscenity,  pro- 
faneness,  or  immorality,  and  retrant  them.  It  be- 
comes me  not  to  draw  my  pen  in  the  defence  of  a  bad 
cause,  when  I  have  so  often  drawn  it  for  a  good  one !" 

To  conclude  : — The  name  of  Dryden  was  first  in 
English  literature,  nor  was  his  fame  confined  to 
Britain.  *'  To  him  we  owe  the  improvement,  perhaps 
the  completion,  of  our  metre  ;  the  refinement  of  our 
language,  and  much  of  the  correctness  of  our  seHti« 
ments.  What  was  said  of  Rome  adorned  by  Augus- 
tus, may  be  applied  by  an  easy  mataphor  to  English 
poetry  embellished  by  Dryden — He   fouxib  if 

BKICK,  AND  HB  LEFT  IT  MARULB." 


TO  HER  GKACE 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  ORMOND: 

-WITH  TUK  POBM  OF 

PA.LAMON  AND  ARCITK. 


Madam, 

The  bard  who  first  adorn'd  our  native  tongue 
Tuned  to  his  British  lyre  this  ancient  song ; 
Which  Homer  might  without  a  blush  rehearse, 
And  leaves  a  doubtful  palm  in  Virgil's  verse  : 
He  match' d  their  beauties  where  they  most  excd, 
Of^ove  sung  better,  and  of  arms  as  well. 

Vouchsafe,  illustrious  Orraond,  to  behold 
What  power  the  charms  of  beauty  had  of  old  ; 
Nor  wonder  if  such  deeds  of  arms  were  done, 
Inapired  by  two  fair  eyes  that  sparkled  like  your  own* 

If  Chaucer  by  the  best  idea  wrought. 
And  poets  can  divine  each  other's  thought, 
The  fairest  nymph  before  his  eyes  he  set ; 
And  then  the  fairest  was — Plantagenet ! 


2 


TO  THE 


Who  three  contending  prvnces  made  her  prize, 
And  ruled  the  rlvcil  nations  with  her  eyes  ; 
Who  left  immortal  trophies  of  her  fame, 
Aud  to  the  noblest  order  gave  the  name. 

Like  her,  of  equal  kindred  to  the  throne, 
You  keep  her  conquests,  and  extend  your  own  : 
As  when  the  stars,  in  their  ethereal  race, 
At  length  have  roll'd  around  the  liquid  space, 
At  certain  periods  they  resume  their  place, 
From  the  same  point  of  heaven  their  course  advance, 
And  move  in  measures  of  their  former  dance  ; 
Thus,  after  length  of  ages,  she  returns. 
Restored  in  you,  and  the  same  place  adorns  ; 
Or  you  perform  her  office  in  the  sphere, 
Born  of  her  blood,  and  make  a  ne-w  platonic  year. 

O  true  PlantagenLt !  O  race  divine  I 
(For  beauty  still  is  fatal  to  the  line), 
Had  Chaucer  lived  that  angel-face  to  vie\r 
Sure  he  had  drawn  his  Emily  from  you : 
Or  had  you  lived,  to  judge  the  doubtful  r)-gnt, 
Your  noble  Palamon  had  been  the  knight : 
And  conquering  Theseus  from  his  side  had  sent 
Your  generous  lord,  to  guide  the  Theban  govern* 
ment. 

Time  shall  accomplish  that ;  and  I  shall  sec 
A  Palamon  in  him,  in  you  an  Emily. 

Already  have  the  Fates  your  path  prepared, 
Aud  sure  presage  your  f  Vure  sway  declared  j  ^ 


DUCHESS  OF  ORMOND. 


8 


When  westward,  like  the  sun,  you  took  your  wajr, 
And  from  benighted  Britain  bore  the  day, 
Blue  Triton  gave  the  signal  frona  the  shore, 
The  ready  Nereids  heard,  and  gwam  before 
To  smooth  the  seas  ;  a  soft  Etesian  gale 
But  just  inspired,  and  gently  swell'd  the  sail ; 
Portunus  took  his  turn,  whose  ample  hand 
Heaved  up  his  lighten' d  keel,  and  sunk  the  sand. 
And  steer'd  the  sacred  vessel  safe  to  land. 
The  land,  if  not  restrained,  had  met  your  way, 
Projected  out  a  neck,  and  jutted  to  the  sea. 
Hibernia,  prostrate  at  your  feet,  adored, 
In  you,  the  pledge  of  her  expected  lord  ; 
Due  to  her  isle  ;  a  venerable  name  ; 
His  father  and  his  grandsire  known  to  fame : 
Awed  by  that  house,  accustom' d  to  command, 
The  sturdy  kerns  in  due  subjection  stand  ; 
Nor  bear  the  reins  in  any  foreign  land. 

At  your  approach,  they  crowded  to  the  port ; 
And,  scarcely  landed,  you  create  a  court : 
As  Ormond's  harbinger,  to  you  they  run  ; 
For  Venus  is  the  pnrO-iuise  of  the  Sun. 

The  waste  of  civil  wars,  their  towns  destroy'd. 
Pales  unhonour'd,  C^res  unemploy'd, 
Were  all  forgot ;  and  &ae  triumphant  day 
Wiped  all  the  tears  of  three  campaigns  away  s 
Blood,  rapines,  massacres  were  cheaply  bought  | 
So  mighty  recompense  your  beauty  brought. 

As  when  the  dove,  returning,  bore  the  mark 
Of  earth  restored  to  the  long-labou»ng  ark, 
a  2 


4 


TO  THE 


The  relics  of  mankind,  secure  of  rest, 
Oped  every  window  to  receive  the  guest, 
And  the  fair  bearer  of  the  message  bless' d  ; 
So,  when  you  came,  with  loud  repeated  cries, 
The  nation  took  an  omen  from  your  eyes, 
And  God  advanced  his  rainbow  in  the  skies. 
To  sign  inviolable  peace  rest<^red  ; 
The  saints  with  solemn  shouts  proclaim' d  the  new 
accord. 

When  at  yc*ir  second  coming  you  appear 
(For  I  foretell  that  millenary  yesr), 
The  sharpen'd  share  shall  vex  the  soil  no  more. 
But  earth  unbidden  shall  produce  her  store  : 
The  land  shall  laugh,  the  circling  ocean  smile, 
And  Heaven's  indulgence  bless  the  holy  isle. 

Heaven  from  all  ages  has  reserved  for  you 
That  happy  clime  which  venom  never  knew  ; 
Or  if  it  had  been  there,  your  eyes  aloise 
Have  power  to  chase  all  poison  but  their  own. 

Now  in  this  interval,  which  fate  has  cast 
Betwixt  your  future  glories  and  your  past ; 
This  pause  of  power  'tis  Ireland's  hour  to  mourn  ; 
"While  England  celebrates  your  safe  return. 
By  which  you  seem  the  seasons  to  command, 
And  bring  our  summers  back  to  their  forsaken  land. 

The  vanquish' d  isle  our  leisure  must  attena, 
Till  the  fair  blessing  wc  vouchsafe  to  send  ; 
Kor  can  we  sj  are  vou  long,  though  ofteu  we  may 
lend. 


DUCHESS  OF  ORMOKD. 


6 


The  dove  was  twice  employ'd  abroad,  before 
The  world  was  dried  ;  and  she  leturn'd  no  more. 

Nor  dare  we  trust  so  soft  a  messenger, 
New  from  her  sickness,  to  that  northern  air  ; 
Rest  here  a  while  your  lustre  to  restore, 
That  they  may  sec  you,  as  you  shone  before  ; 
For  yet,  th'  eclipse  not  wholly  pass'd,  you  wade 
Through  some  remains  and  dimness  of  a  sliade. 

A  subject  in  his  prince  may  claim  a  rig-ht, 
Nor  suffer  him  with  strength  impair'd  to  fight ; 
Till  force  returns,  his  ardour  we  restrain, 
And  curb  >iis  warlike  wish  to  cross  the  main. 
Now  pass'd  the  danger,  let  the  learn'd  begin 
Th'  inquiry,  where  disease  could  enter  in  ; 
How  those  malignant  atoms  forced  their  way  ; 
What  in  the  faultless  frame  they  found  to  make  thekt 
prey  ? 

Where  every  element  was  weighed  so  well, 

Tliat  Heaven  alone,  who  mix'd  the  mass,  could  tell 

Which  of  the  four  ingredients  could  rebel ; 

And  where,  imprison' d  in  so  sweet  a  cage, 

A  soul  might  well  be  pleased  to  pass  an  age. 

And  yet  the  fine  materials  made  it  weak  ; 
Porcelain,  by  being  pure,  is  apt  to  break  : 
E'en  to  your  breast  the  sickness  durst  aspire  ; 
And,  forced  from  that  fair  temple  to  retire, 
Profanely  set  the  holy  place  on  fire. 
In  vain  your  lord  like  young  Vespasian  mourn'd. 
When  the  fierce  flames  the  sanctuary  burn'd  ; 


t 


TO  THE 


And  I  ))repare(l  to  pay  in  verses  rude 

A  most  detested  act  of  gratitude  : 

E'en  this  had  been  your  elegy,  v\hich  no\r 

Is  offer' d  for  your  health,  the  table  of  my  vow. 

Your  angel  sure  our  Morley's*  mind  inspired. 
To  find  the  remedy  your  ill  required  ; 
As  o.nce  the  Macedon,  by  Jove's  decree. 
Was  tatiglit  to  dream  a  herb  for  Ptolemy : 
Or  Heaven,  which  had  such  ovcrcost  bestow'4 
As  scarce  it  could  afford  to  flesh  and  blood. 
So  liked  the  frame,  he  would  not  work  anew, 
To  save  the  charges  of  another  you. 
Or  by  his  middle  science  did  he  steer, 
And  saw  some  gre.it  contingent  good  appear, 
Well  worth  a  miracle  to  keep  you  here  : 
And,  for  that  end,  preserved  the  precious  mould, 
Whrch  all  the  future  Ormonds  was  to  hold  ; 
And  meditated  in  his  better  mind 
An  heir  from  you,  which  may  redeem  the  failing  kind* 

Bless 'd  be  the  power  which  has  at  once  restored 

The  hopes  of  lest  succession  to  your  lord, 
Joy  to  the  first  and  last  of  each  degree. 
Virtue  to  courts,  and,  what  I  long'd  to  see. 
To  you  the  Graces,  and  the  Muse  to  me. 

O  daughter  of  the  Rose,  whose  checks  unite 
The  differing  titles  of  the  red  and  white  j  ; 

*  Christopher  Love  Morley,  M.  D. 

t  AUutlinff  to  her  descent  from  the  Plante^encH,  ai  daughter 
•nieury,  Duke  of  lieauforc. 


DUCHESS  OF  ORMOND. 

"Who  Heaven's  alternate  beauty  well  display, 
The  blush  of  morning,  and  the  milky  way  ; 
Whose  face  is  paradise,  but  fenced  from  sin  : 
For  God  in  either  eye  has  placed  a  cherubin. 

All  is  your  lord's  alcne  ;  e'en  absent,  he 
Employs  the  care  of  chaste  Penelope. 
For  bira  you  waste  in  tears  your  widow'd  hours, 
For  him  yoiu-  curious  needle  paints  the  flowers  ; 
Such  works  ol  old  imperial  dames  were  taught  ; 
Such,  for  Ascanius,  fair  Elisa  wrought. 

The  soft  recesses  of  your  hours  improve 
The  three  fair  pledges  of  your  happy  love  : 
All  other  parts  of  pious  duty  done, 
You  owe  your  Ormond  nothing  but  a  son ; 
To  fill  in  future  times  his  father's  place, 
Aad  wear  the  garter  of  hi«  mother's  race^ 


FABLES 

BOCCACCIO   AND  CHAUCEa, 


PALAMON  AND   ARCITE  ; 

OK 

THE    KNIGHT'S  TALE. 


BOOK  I, 

In  days  of  old  there  lived  of  mighty  fame, 

A  valiant  prince  ;  and  Theseus  was  his  name  : 

A  chief  who  more  in  feats  of  arms  exceU'd 

The  rising  nor  the  setting  sun  beheld  : 

Of  Athens  he  was  lord  ;  much  land  he  won, 

And  added  foreign  countries  to  his  crown  : 

In  Scythia  with  the  warrior-queen  he  strove. 

Whom  first  by  force  he  conquer'd,  then  by  love; 

He  brought  in  triumph  back  the  beauteous  dame. 

With  whom  her  sister,  fair  Emilia,  came. 


10 


FABLES. 


With  hofiour  to  this  home  let  Theseus  ride, 

With  Love  to  friend,  and  Fortune  for  his  guide, 

Aiid  his  victorious  army  at  his  side. 

I  pass  their  warlike  pomp,  their  proud  array,  , 

Their  shouts,  their  songs,  their  welcome  on  the  waj  j  ' 

But  were  it  not  too  long,  I  would  recite 

The  feats  of  Amazons,  the  fatal  fight  ^ 

Betwixt  the  hardy  queen  and  hero  knight ;  ' 

The  town  besieged,  and  how  much  blood  it  cost  ' 

The  female  army  and  th'  Athenian  host ; 

The  spousals  of  Hippolita,  the  queen  ; 

What  tilts  and  tourneys  at  the  feast  were  seon  ; 

The  storm,  at  their  return,  the  ladies'  fear  > — 

But  these,  and  other  things,  I  must  forbear. 

Tlie  field  is  spacious  I  design  to  sow. 

With  oxen,  far  unfit  to  draw  the  plough  : 

The  remnant  of  my  tale  is  of  a  length 

To  tire  your  patience,  and  to  waste  my  strength  ; 

And  trivial  accidents  shall  be  forborne, 

That  others  may  ha  /e  time  to  take  their  turn  ; 

As  was  at  fint  enjoin' d  us  by  mine  host : 

That  he,  whose  tale  is  best  and  pleases  m»et, 

Should  win  his  supper  at  our  common  cost. 

And  therefore,  where  I  left  I  will  pursue 
This  ancient  story,  whether  false  or  true, 
In  hope  it  may  be  mended  with  a  new. 
The  prince  I  mention'd,  full  of  high  renown, 
In  this  array  drew  near  th'  Athenian  town  ; 
When  in  his  pomp,  and  utmost  of  his  pride. 
Marching,  he  chanced  to  cast  his  eye  aside. 
And  saw  a  choir  of  mourning  dames,  who  lay 
By  two  and  two  across  the  common  way  , 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE. 


At  his  approach  they  raised  a  rueful  cry, 

And  beat  their  breasts,  and  held  their  hands  on  high, 

Orefiping,  and  crying,  till  they  seized  at  last 

His  courser's  bridle,  and  his  feet  embraced. 

*  Tell  me,'  said  Theseus, '  what  and  whence  you  arCj 
And  why  this  funeral  pageant  you  prepare  ? 
Is  this  the  welcome  of  my  worthy  deeds, 
To  meet  my  triumph  in  ill  omen'd  weeds  ? 
Or  envy  you  my  praise,  and  would  destroy 
With  grief  my  pleasures,  and  pollute  my  joy  ? 
Or  arc  you  injured,  and  demand  relief? 
Name  your  request,  and  I  will  ease  your  grief.* 

The  most  in  years  of  all  the  mourning  train 
Began  (but  swooned  first  away  for  pain)  ; 
Then,  scarce  recover'd,  spoke  :  '  Nor  envy  we 
Thy  great  renown,  nor  grudge  thy  victory  ; 
*Tis  thine,  O  king  !  the  afflicted  to  redress, 
And  fame  has  fiU'd  the  world  with  thy  success  : 
We,  wretched  women,  sue  for  that  alone 
Which  of  thy  goodness  is  refused  to  none  : 
Let  fall  some  drops  of  pity  on  our  grief. 
If  what  we  beg  be  just,  and  we  deserve  relief  j 
For  none  of  us,  who  now  thy  grace  implore, 
But  held  the  rank  of  sovereign-queen  before  ; 
Till,  thanks  to  giddy  chance,  which  never  bears 
Tliat  mortal  bliss  should  last  for  length  of  years. 
She  cast  us  headlong  from  our  high  estate, 
And  here  in  hope  of  thy  return  we  wait ; 
And  long  have  waited  in  the  temple  nigh. 
Built  to  the  gracious  goddess  Ctemency. 
But  ceverence  thou  the  power  whose  name  it  bears. 
Relieve  th*  oppress 'd,  and  wipe  the  widow's  tears  ; 


13 


FABLES. 


I,  wretched  I,  have  other  fortune  seen, 

The  wife  of  Capaneus,  and  once  a  queen  : 

At  Thebes  he  fell ;  cursed  be  the  fatal  day  ! 

And  all  the  rest  thou  seest  in  this  array, 

To  make  their  moan,  their  lords  in  battle  lost 

Before  that  town  besieged  by  our  confederate  host  I 

But  Creon,  old  and  impious,  who  commands 

The  Theban  city,  and  usurps  the  lands, 

Denies  the  rites  of  funeral  fires  to  those 

Whose  breathless  bodies  yet  he  calls  his  foes. 

Unburn'd,  unburicd,  on  a  heap  they  lie  ; 

iSuch  is  their  fate,  and  such  his  tyranny  ; 

No  friend  has  leave  to  bear  away  the  dead, 

But  with  their  lifeless  limbs  his  hounds  are  fed.' 

At  this  she  shriek' d  aloud  ;  the  mournful  train 

Echo'd  her  grief,  and,  grovelling  on  the  plain. 

With  groans,  and  hands  upheld,  to  move  his  mind, 

Besought  his  pity  to  their  helpless  kind  ! 

The  prince  was  touch'd,  his  tears  began  to  flow. 
And,  as  his  tender  heart  would  break  in  two, 
He  sigh'd  ;  and  could  not  but  their  fate  de^jlore. 
So  wretched  now,  so  fortunate  before. 
Then  lightly  from  his  lofty  steed  he  flew. 
And  raising  one  by  one  the  suppliant  crew. 
To  comfort  each,  full  solemnly  he  swore, 
That  by  the  faith  which  knights  to  knighthood  bore, 
And  whate'er  else  to  chivalry  belongs. 
He  would  not  cease,  till  he  revenged  their  wrongs. 
That  Greece  should  seeperform'd  what  he  declared ; 
And  cruel  Creon  find  his  just  reward. 
He  said  no  more,  but,  shunning  all  delay, 
Eode  on  ;  nor  enter' d  Athens  on  his  way ; 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITK. 


IS 


But  left  his  sister  and  iiis  queen  behind  ; 
And  waved  his  royal  banner  in  the  wind  ; 
Where  in  an  argent  field  the  god  of  war 
Was  drawn  triumphant  on  his  iron  car  ; 
Red  was  his  sword,  and  shield,  and  whole  attire, 
And  all  the  godhead  seem'd  to  glow  with  fire  ; 
E'en  the  ground  glitter'd  where  the  standard  Hew, 
And  the  green  grass  was  dyed  to  sanguine  hue. 
High  on  his  pointed  lance  his  pennon  bore 
His  Cretan  fight,  the  conquerM  Minotaur  : 
The  soldiers  shout  around  with  generous  rage, 
And  in  that  victory  their  own  presage. 
He  praised  their  ardour  :  inly  pleased  to  see 
His  host,  the  flower  of  Grecian  chivairy. 
All  day  he  march'd,  and  all  th'  ensuing  night, 
And  saw  the  city  with  returning  light. 
The  process  of  the  war  I  need  not  tell, — 
How  Theseus  conquer'd,  and  how  Creon  fell : 
Or  alter,  how  by  storm  the  walls  were  won, 
Or  how  the  victor  sack'd  and  burn'd  the  town  : 
How  to  the  ladies  he  restored  again 
The  bodies  of  their  lords  in  battle  slain, 
And  with  what  ancient  rites  they  were  interr'd : 
All  these  to  fitter  time  shall  be  deferr'd. 
I  spare  the  widows'  tears,  their  woful  cries, 
And  howling  at  their  husbands'  obsequies  ; 
I    How  Theseus  at  these  funerals  did  assist, 

And  with  what  gifts  the  mourning  dames  dismiss'd« 

Thus  when  the  victor- chi^ef  had  Creon  slain, 
And  conquer'd  Thebes,  he  pitch'd  upon  the  plain 
His  mighty  camp,  and  when  the  day  return'o, 
The  country  wasted,  and  the  hamlets  burn'd ; 


14 


FABLES. 


And  left  the  pillagers,  to  rapine  bred, 
Without  controul  to  strip  and  spoil  the  dead. 

There,  in  a  heap  of  slain,  among  the  rest 
Two  youthfu'i  knights  they  found  beneath  a  load  op» 
prcss'd 

Of  slaughter' d  foes,  whom  first  to  death  they  sent, 
The  trophies  of  their  strength,  a  bloody  monument, 
Both  fair,  and  both  of  royal  blood  they  seem'd. 
Whom  kinsmen  to  the  crown  the  heralds  deem'd  ; 
That  day  in  equal  arms  they  fought  for  fame  ; 
Their  swords,  their  shields,  their  surcoats  were  th« 
same. 

Close  by  each  other  laid  they  prcss'd  the  ground, 
Their  manly  bosoms  pierced  with  many  a  grisly 
wound  ; 

Nor  well  alive  nor  wholly  dead  they  were. 
But  some  faint  signs  of  feeble  life  appear  : 
The  wandering  breath  was  on  the  wing  to  part, 
Weak  was  the  pulse,  and  hardly  heaved  the  heart. 
These  two  were  sisters'  sons  ;  and  Arcite  one, 
Bluch  famed  in  fields,  with  valiant  Palamon. 
PVom  these  their  costly  arms  the  spoilers  rent, 
And  softly  both  convey' d  to  Theseus'  tent ; 
Whom  known  of  Creon's  line,  and  cured  ^ith 
care, 

He  to  his  city  sent,  as  prisoners  of  the  war. 
Hopeless  of  ransom,  and  condemn'd  to  lie 
In  durance,  doom'd  a  lingering  death  to  die. 

This  done,  he  march' d  away  with  warlike  sound. 
And  to  his  Athens  tuKi'd'with  laurels  crowix'd, 
"Where  happy  long  he  lived,  much  loved,  and  mofe 
rcno-Jin'd. 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE. 


15 


But  in  a  tower,  and  never  to  be  loosed, 
The  wofiil  captive  kinsmen  are  enclosed. 

Thus  year  by  year  they  pass,  and  day  by  daj 
Till  once  ('twas  on  the  morn  of  cheerful  Ma}') 
The  young  Emilia,  fairer  to  be  seen 
Than  the  fair  lily  on  the  flowery  green, 
More  fresh  than  May  herself  in  blossoms  new 
(For  with  the  rosy  colour  strove  her  hue). 
Waked,  as  her  custom  was,  before  the  daj''. 
To  do  th'  observance  due  to  spri«ghtly  INIay ; 
For  sprightly  May  commands  our  youth  to  keep 
The  vigils  of  her  night,  and  break  their  sluggard 
sleep. 

Each  gentle  breast  with  kindly  warmth  she  moves, 
Inspires  new  flames,  revives  extinguish' d  loves  ; 
In  this  remembrance  Emily  ere  day 
Arose,  and  dress 'd  herself  in  rich  array  ; 
Fresh  as  the  month,  and  as  the  morning  fair: 
Adown  her  shoulders  fell  her  length  of  hair  t 
A  riband  did  the  braided  tresses  bind  ; 
The  rest  was  loose,  and  wanton'd  in  the  wind. 
Aurora  had  but  newly  chased  the  night, 
And  purpled  o'er  the  sky  with  blushing  light, 
When  to  the  garden-walk  she  took  her  way, 
To  sport  and  trip  along  in  cool  of  day, 
And  off'er  maiden  vows  in  honour  of  the  May. 
At  every  turn  she  made  a  little  stand, 
I     And  thrust  among  the  thorns  her  lily  hand 
!     To  draw  the  rose,  and  every  rose  she  drew 
!     She  shook  the  stalk,  and  brush'd  away  the  dew 

Then  party-colour' d  flowers  of  white  and  red 
!     She  wove,  to  make  a  garland  for  her  bead  : 


FABLES. 


This  done,  she  sung  and  earol'd  out  so  clew, 

That  men  and  angels  might  rejoice  to  hear. 

E'en  wondering  Philomel  forgot  to  sing  ; 

And  learn'd  from  her  to  welcome  in  thfl  Spring. 

The  tower,  of  which  before  was  mention  made, 

Within  whose  keep  the  captive  knights  were  lali-, 

Built  of  a  large  extent,  and  strong  withal, 

Was  one  partition  of  the  palace  wall : 

The  garden  was  enclosed  within  the  square, 

Where  young  Emilia  took  the  morning  air. 

It  happen'd,  Palamon,  the  prisoner  knight, 
Restless  for  woe,  arose  before  the  light, 
And,  wii:;h  his  jailor's  leave,  desired  to  breathe 
An  air  more  wholesome  than  the  damps  beneath « 
This  granted,  to  the  tower  he  took  his  way. 
Cheer' d  with  a  promise  of  a  glorious  day  : 
Then  cast  a  languishing  regard  around, 
And  saw  with  hateful  eyes  the  temples  crown 'd 
With  golden  spires,  and  all  the  hostile  ground. 
He  sigh'd,  and  turn'd  his  eyes,  because  he  knew 
*Twas  but  a  larger  jail  he  had  in  view  ; 
Then  look'd  below,  and  from  the  castle's  height 
Beheld  a  nearer  and  more  pleasing  sight : 
The  garden,  which  before  he  had  not  seen, 
In  spring's  new  livery  clad  of  white  and  green. 
Fresh  flowers  in  v  ide  parterres,  and  shady  walks  be* 
twecn. 

This  view'd,  but  not  enjoy 'd,  with  arms  across 
He  stood,  reflecting  on  his  country's  loss  ; 
Himself  an  object  of  the  public  scorn, 
And  often  wish'd  he  never  had  been  born. 


I'ALAMON  AND  ARCITE. 


17 


At  last  (for  so  his  destiny  required) 
With  walking  giddy,  and  with  thinking  tired. 
He  through  a  little  window  cast  his  sight, 
Though  thick  of  bars,  that  gave  a  scanty  light : 
But  even  that  glimmering  served  him  to  descry 
Th'  inevitable  charms  of  Emily. 

Scarce  had  he  seen,  but,  seized  with  sudden  smart, 
Stung  to  the  quick,  he  felt  it  at  his  heart ; 
Struck  blind  with  overpowering  light  he  stood, 
Then  started  back  amazed,  and  cried  aloud  ! 

Young  Arcite  heard  ;  and  up  he  ran  with  haste 
To  help  his  friend,  and  in  his  arms  embraced  ; 
And  ask'd  him  why  he  look'd  so  deadly  wan, 
And  whence,  and  how  his  change  of  cheer  began  ? 
Or  who  had  done  th*  oflence  ?  '  But  if,*  said  he,  - 

*  Your  grief  alone  is  hard  captivity  ; 

For  love  of  Heaven,  with  patience  undergo 

A  cureless  ill,  since  Fate  will  have  it  so  : 

So  stood  our  horoscope  in  chains  to  lie, 

And  Saturn,  in  the  dungeon  of  the  sky, 

Or  other  baleful  aspect,  ruled  our  birth. 

When  all  the  friendly  stars  were  under  earth  : 

Whate'er  betides,  by  destiny  'tis  done. 

And  better  bear  like  men,  than  vainly  seek  to  shim** 

*  Nor  of  my  bonds,'  said  Palamon  wgain, 

*  Nor  of  unhappy  planets  I  complain  ; 

But  when  my  mortal  anguish  caused  my  cry, 
That  moment  I  was  hurt  through  either  eye; 
Pierced  with  a  random  shaft,  I  faint  away. 
And  perish  with  insensible  decay  : 
A  glance  of  some  new  goddess  gave  the  wound. 
Whom,  like  Actaon,  unaware  I  found. 


18 


FABLES. 


Look  how  bhe  walks  along  yon  shady  space, 

Not  Juno  moves  with  more  majestic  grace ; 

And  all  the  Cyprian  Queen  is  in  her  face. 

If  thou  art  Venus  (for  thy  charms  confess 

That  face  was  form'd  in  heaven),  nor  art  thou  letw, 

Pisguised  in  habit,  undisguised  in  shape  ; 

O,  help  us  captives  from  our  chains  to  'scape ! 

But  if  our  doom  be  pass'd,  in  bonds  to  lie 

For  life,  and  in  a  loathsome  dungeon  die, 

Then  be  thy  wrath  appeased  with  our  disgrace, 

And  show  compassion  to  the  Theban  race, 

Oppress'd  by  tyrant  power  !'  While  yet  he  spoke, 

Arcite  on  Emily  had  fix'd  his  look  ; 

The  fatal  dart  a  ready  passage  found, 

An^  deep  within  his  heart  infix'd  the  wound  : 

So  that  if  Palamon  were  wounded  sore, 

Arcite  was  hurt  as  much  as  he,  or  more  : 

Then  from  his  inmost  soul  he  sigh'd,  and  said, 

*  The  beauty  I  behold  has  struck  me  dead  : 
Unknowingly  she  strikes,  and  kills  by  chance  ; 
Poison  is  in  her  eyes,  and  death  in  every  glance. 
O  !  I  must  ask  ;  nor  ask  alone,  but  move 

Her  mind  to  mercy,  or  must  die  for  low  !* 
Thus  Arcite  :  and  thus  Palamon  replies, 
(Eager  his  tone,  and  ardent  were  his  eyes  :) 

*  Speak'st  thou  in  earnest,  or  in  jesting  vein  ?' 

'  Jesting,'  said  Arcite,  *  suits  but  ill  with  pain,' 

*  It  suits  far  worse,'  said  Palamon  again. 

And  bent  his  biows,  '  with  men  who  honour  weigh. 
Their  faith  to  break,  their  friendship  to  betray  ; 
But  worst  with  thee,  of  noble  lineage  born. 
My  kinsman,  and  in  arms  my  brother  sworn. 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE. 

Have  we  not  plighted  each  our  holy  oath, 
That  one  should  be  t]^ common  good  of  both? 
One  soul  should  both  inspire,  and  neither  prove 
His  fellow's  hinderance  in  pursuit  of  love  ? 
To  this  before  the  gods  we  gave  our  hands, 
And  nothing  but  our  death  can  break  the  bands. 
This  binds  thee,  then,  to  further  my  design  ; 
As  I  am  bound  by  vow  to  further  thine  : 
Nor  oanst,  nor  darest  thou,  traitor,  on  the  plain 
Appeach  my  honour,  or  thine  own  maintain  ; 
Since  thou  art  of  my  counsel,  And  the  friend 
Whose  faith  I  trust,  and  on  whose  care  depend 
And  wouldst  thou  court  my  lady's  love,  which  I 
Much  rather  than  release,  would  ch.)ose  to  die  ? 
But  thou,  false  Arcite,  never  shalt  obtain 
Thy  bad  pretence  ;  I  told  thee  first  my  pain  : 
For  first  my  love  be-gan  ere  thine  was  born  ; 
Thou,  as  my  counsel,  and  my  brother  sworn. 
Art  bound  t'  assist  my  eldership  of  right. 
Or  justly  to  be  deem'd  a  perjured  knight.* 

Thus  Palamon.    But  Arcite,  with  disdain, 
In  haughty  language  thus  replied  again  : 
*  Forsworn  thyself :  the  traitor's  odious  name 
I  first  return,  and  then  disprove  thy  claim. 
If  love  be  passion,  and  that  passion  nursed 
With  strong  desires,  I  loved  the  lady  first. 
Canst  thou  pretend  desire,  whom  zeal  inf  amed 
To  worship,  and  a  power  celestial  named  ? 
Thine  was  devotion  to  the  bless* d  above, 
I  saw  the  woman,  and  desired  her  love  ; 
First  own'd  my  passion,  and  to  thee  commend 
Th'  important  secret  as  my  chosen  frif-nd. 

C  2 


so 


FABLES. 


Suppose  (which  ye&    grant  not),  thy  desire 
A  moment  elder  than  my  rivalxfire  ; 
Can  chance  of  seeing  first  thy  title  prove  ? 
And  know'st  thou  not,  no  law  is  made  for  love  ? 
Law  is  to  things  which  to  free  choice  relate  ; 
Love  is  not  in  our  choice,  but  in  our  fate  ; 
Laws  are  hut  positive  :  Love's  power,  we  see, 
Is  Nature's  sanction,  and  her  first  decree. 
Each  day  we  break  the  bond  of  human  laws 
For  love,  and  vindicate  the  common  cause. 
Laws  for  defence  of  civil  righta  are  placed, 
Love  throws  the  fences  down,  and  makes  a  general 
waste : 

Maids,  widows,  wives,  without  distinction  fall ; 

The  sweeping  deluge,  Love,  comes  on  and  covers  all. 

If  then  the  laws  of  friendship  I  transgress, 

I  keep  the  greater,  while  I  break  the  less  ; 

And  hoth  are  mad  alike,  since  neither  can  possess. 

Both  hopeless  to  be  ransom'd,  never  more 

To  see  the  sun,  but  as  he  passes  o'er.' 

Like  iEsop's  hounds  contending  for  the  bone. 
Each  pleaded  right,  and  would  be  lord  alone : 
The  fruitless  fight  continued  all  the  day  ; 
A  cur  came  by,  and  snatch'd  the  prize  away. 
*  As  courtiers  therefore  justle  for  a  grant,  [want. 
And,  when  they  break  their  friendship,  plead  their 
So  thou,  if  fortune  will  thy  suit  advance. 
Love  o-n  ;  nor  envy  me  my  equal  chance  : 
For  I  must  love,  and  am  resolved  to  try 
My  fate,  or  failing  in  th'  adventure,  die  !* 

Great  was  their  strife,  which  hourly  wa^  renew' 3, 
Till  each  with  mortal  hate  his  rival  view'd : 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE. 


SI 


Now  friends  no  more,  nor  walking  hand  in  hand 
But  when  they  met,  they  made  a  surly  stand  ; 
And  glared  like  angry  lions  as  they  pass'd, 
And  wish'd  that  every  look  might  be  their  last. 

It  chanced  at  length,  Pirithous  came,  t'  attend 
This  worthy  Theseus,  his  familiar  friend  ; 
Their  love  in  early  infancy  began, 
And  rose  as  childhood  ripen'd  into  man# 
Companions  of  the  war  ;  and  loved  so  well, 
That  when  one  died,  as  ancient  stories  tell, 
His  fellow,  to  redeem  him,  went  to  hell. 

But  to  pursue  my  tale  ;  to  welcome  home 
His  warlike  brother  is  Pirithous  come  : 
Arcite  of  Thebes  was  known  in  arms  long  since, 
And  honour' d  by  this  young  Theasalian  prince. 
Theseus,  to  gratify  his  friend  and  guest, 
Who  made  our  Arcite's  freedom  his  request, 
Restored  to  liberty  the  captive  knight, 
But  on  these  hard  conditions  I  recite  : 
That  if  hereafter  Arcite  should  be  found 
Within  the  compass  of  Athenian  ground, 
I     By  day  or  night,  or  on  whatever  pretence, 
i     His  head  should  pay  the  forfeit  of  th'  offence, 
i    To  this,  Pirithous,  for  his  friend,  agreed, 
(     And  on  his  promise  was  the  prisoner  freed. 
I        Unpleased  and  pensive,  hence  he  takes  his  way, 
1     At  his  own  peril ;  for  his  life  must  pay. 
[    Who  now  but  Arcite  mourns  his  bitter  fate, 
I     Finds  his  dear  purchase,  and  repents  too  late  ? 
'     •  What  have  I  gain'd,'  he  said,  *  in  prison  pent, 
i     If  I  but  change  my  bonds  for  banishment  7 


22 


FABLES. 


And  banish' d  from  her  sight,  I  sufler  more 
In  freedom,  than  I  felt  in  bondo  before  ; 
Forced  from  her  presence,  and  condemn'd  to  lire; 
Unwelcome  freedom,  and  unthank'd  reprieve  ; 
Heaven  is  not  but  where  Emily  abides, 
And  where  she's  absent,  all  is  hell  besides. 
Next  to  my  day  of  birth,  was  that  accursed, 
Which  boi^d  my  friendship  to  Pirithous  first  i 
Had  I  not  known  that  prince,  I  still  had  oeca 
In  bondage,  and  had  still  Emilia  seen  : 
For  though  I  never  can  her  grace  deserve, 
'Tis  recompense  enough  to  see  and  serve. 

0  Palarnon,  my  kinsman  and  my  friend, 
How  much  more  happy  fates  thy  love  attend  I 
Thine  is  th'  adventure  ;  thine  the  victory  : 
Well  has  thy  fortune  turn'd  the  dice  for  thee : 
Thou  on  that  angel's  face  mayst  feed  thy  eyes, 
In  prison,  no  ;  but  blissful  paradise  ! 

Thou  daily  seest  that  sun  of  beauty  shine. 
And  lovest  at  least  in  love's  extreraest  line. 

1  mourn  in  absence,  love's  eternal  night : 
And  who  can  tell  but  since  thou  hast  her  sight, 
And  art  a  comely,  young,  and  valiant  knight. 
Fortune  (a  various  power)  may  cease  to  frown, 
And  by  some  ways  unknown  thy  wishes  crown  ? 
But  I,  the  most  forlorn  of  humankind. 

Nor  help  can  hope,  nor  remedy  can  find  ; 
But  doom'd  to  drag  my  loathsome  life  in  care, 
For  my  reward,  must  end  it  in  despair. 
Fire,  water,  air,  and  earth,  and  force  of  fates 
That  governs  all,  and  Heaven  that  all  creates. 


PALAMON  AND  AKCITE. 


23 


Nor  art,  nor  nature's  hand  can  ease  my  grief ; 
Nothing  but  death,  the  wretch's  last  relief : 
Then  farewell  youth,  and  all  the  joys  that  dwell 
With  youth  and  life,  and  life  itself,  farewell ! 

*  But  %vhy,  alas  !  do  mortal  men  in  vain 
Of  fortune,  fate,  or  Providence  complain  ? 
God  gives  us  what  he  knows  our  wants  require, 
And  better  things  than  those  which  we  desire  : 
Some  pray  for  riches  ;  riches  they  obtain  ; 
But,  watch'd  by  robbers,  for  their  wealth  are  slain  } 
Some  pray  from  prison  to  be  freed  ;  and  come, 
When  guilty  of  their  vows,  to  fall  at  home  ; 
Wurder'd  by  those  they  trusted  with  their  life, 
A  favour' d  servant,  or  a  bosom  wife. 
Such  dear-bought  blessings  happen  every  day. 
Because  we  know  not  for  what  things  to  pray  j 
Like  drunken  sots  about  the  streets  we  roam  : 
Well  knows  the  sot  he  has  a  certain  home, 
Yet  knows  not  how  to  find  th'  uncertain  place, 
And  blunders  on,  and  staggers  every  pace. 
Thus  all  seek  happiness  ;  but  few  can  find, 
For  far  the  greater  part  of  men  are  blind. 
This  is  my  case,  who  thought  our  utmost  good 
Was  in  one  word  of  freedom  understood  : 
The  fatal  blessing  came  :  from  y)rison  free, 
I  starve  abroad,  and  lose  the  sight  of  Emily  !* 

Thus  Arcite  ;  but  if  Arcite  thus  deplore 
His  sufferings,  Palamon  yet  suffers  more. 
For  when  he  knew  his  rival  freed  and  gone. 
He  swells  vfith  wrath  ;  he  makes  outrageous  moan  j 
He  frets,  he  fumes,  he  stares,  he  stamps  the  grouad| 
The  hollow  tower  with  clamours  rings  around ; 


94 


With  briny  tears  he  bathed  his  fetter'd  feet, 
And  dropp'd  all  o*er  with  agony  of  sweat, 
*  Alas  !*  he  cried,  *  I  wretch  in  prison  pine, 
Too  happy  rival,  while  the  fruit  is  thine  : 
Thou  livest  at  large,  thou  draw'st  thy  native  air, 
Pleased  with  thy  freedom,  proud  of  my  despair  : 
Thou  mayst,  since  thou  hast  youth  and  courage 
A  sweet  behaviour,  and  a  solid  mmd,  [join*d. 
Assemble  ours,  and  all  the  Theban  race, 
To  vindicate  on  Athens  thy  disgrace  : 
And  after  (by  some  treaty  made)  possess 
Fair  Emily,  the  pledge  of  lasting  peace  : 
So  thine  shall  be  the  beauteous  prize  ;  while  I 
Must  languish  in  despair,  in  prison  die- 
Thus  all  th'  advantage  ct  the  strife  is  thine,  , 
Thy  portion  double  joys,  and  double  sorrows  mine.* 

The  rage  of  jealousy  then  fired  his  soul, 
And  his  face  kindled  like  a  burning  coal : 
Now  colti  despair,  succeeding  in  her  stead, 
To  livid  paleness  turns  the  glowing  red. 
His  blood,  scarce  liquid,  creeps  within  his  veins, 
Like  water  which  the  freezing  wind  constrains. 
Then  thus  he  said  : — *  Eternal  deities  ! 
Who  rule  the  world  with  absolute  decrees, 
And  write,  whatever  time  shall  bring  to  pass, 
With  pens  of  adamant  on  plates  of  brass  ; 
What,  is  the  race  of  humankind  your  care, 
Beyond  what  all  his  fellow-creatures  are  ? 
He,  with  the  rest,  is  liable  to  pain  ; 
And,  like  the  sheep,  his  brother  beast,  is  slaifi. 
Cold,  hunger,  prisons,  ills  without  a  cure. 
All  these  he  must,  and  guiltless  oft,  endure  ( 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE. 


Si 


Or  does  your  justice,  power,  or  prescience  fail ; 
When  the  good  suffer,  and  the  bad  prevail  ? 
What  worse  to  wretched  virtue  could  befall, 
If  fate  or  giddy  fortune  govern' d  all  ? 
Nay,  worse  than  other  beasts  is  our  estate ; 
Them,  to  pursue  their  pleasures,  you  create  : 
We,  bound  by  harder  laws,  must  curb  our  will. 
And  your  commands,  not  our  desires,  fulfil : 
Then,  when  the  creature  is  unjustly  slain. 
Yet,  after  death  at  least,  he  feeh  no  pain  ; 
But  man,  in  life  surcharged  with  woe  before, 
Not  freed,  when  de&i,  is  doom'd  to  suffer  more. 
A  serpent  shoots  his  sting  at  unaware  ; 
An  ambush'd  thief  forelays  a  traveller; 
The  man  lies  murder'd,  while  the  thief  and  snake. 
One  gains  the  thickets,  and  one  thrids  the  brake. 
This,  let  divines  decide ;  but  well  I  know, 
Just,  or  uiijust,  I  have  my  share  of  woe. 
Through  Saturn,  seated  in  a  luckless  place, 
And  Juno's  wrath,  that  persecutes  my  race ; 
Or  IMars  and  Venus  in  a  quartile  move 
My  pangs  of  jealousy  for  Arcite's  love  !' 

Let  Palamon,  oppress*  d  in  bondage,  mouro^ 
While  to  his  exiled  rival  we  return. 
By  this  the  sun,  declining  from  his  height. 
The  day  had  shorten'd  to  prolong  the  night: 
The  lengthen'd  night  gave  length  of  misery 
Both  to  the  captive  lover  and  the  free. 
For  Palamon  in  endless  prison  mourns. 
And  Arcite  forfeits  life  if  he  returns. 
The  banish' d  never  hopes  his  love  to  see. 
Nor  hopes  the  captive  'ord  his  liberty. 


26 


FABLES. 


'Tis  hard  to  say,  who  suiTers  greater  pains  : 
One  sees  his  love,  but  cannot  break  his  chains  ; 
One  free,  and  all  his  motions  uncontroul'd, 
Beholds  whate'er  he  would,  but  what  he  would  I 
hold. 

Judge  as  you  please,  for  I  will  haste  to  tell 
What  fortune  to  the  banish'd  knight  befell. — 
When  Arcite  was  to  Thebes  return' d  again, 
The  loss  of  her  he  loved  renew *d  his  pain  ; 
What  could  be  worse  than  never  more  to  see 
His  life,  his  soul,  his  charming  Emily  ? 
He  raved  with  all  the  madness  of  despair. 
He  roar'd,  he  beat  his  breast,  he  tore  his  hair. 
Dry  sorrow  in  his  stupid  eyes  appears, 
For  wanting  nourishment,  he  wanted  tears  : 
His  eyeballs  in  their  hollow  sockets  sink, 
Bereft  of  sleep,  he  loathes  his  meat  :»nd  drink. 
He  withers  at  his  heart,  and  looks  as  wan 
As  the  pale  spectre  of  a  murder' d  man  ; 
That  pale  turns  jellow,  and  his  face  receives 
The  faded  hue  of  sapless  boxen  leaves  : 
In  solitary  groves  he  makes  his  moan. 
Walks  early  out,  and  ever  is  alone. 
Nor  mix'd  in  mirth,  in  youthful  pleasure  shares, 
But  sighs  when  songs  and  instruments  he  hears  : 
His  spirits  are  so  low,  his  voice  is  drown' d, 
He  hears  as  from  afar,  or  in  a  swoon. 
Like  the  deaf  murmurs  of  a  distant  sound  : 
Uncomb'd  his  locks,  and  squalid  his  attire. 
Unlike  the  trim  of  love  and  gay  desire ; 
But  full  of  museful  mopings,  which  presage 
The  loss  of  reason,  and  conclude  in  rage. 


PALAMOW  AKD  ARCITK. 


27 


This,  when  he  had  endured  a  year  or  more, 
Now  wholly  changed  from  what  he  was  before. 
It  happened  once  that,  slumbering  as  he  lay, 
He  dream' d  (his  dream  began  at  break  of  day) 
That  Hermes  o'er  his  head  in  air  appear'd. 
And  with  soft  words  his  drooping  spirits  cheer'd  : 
His  hat,  adorn'd  with  wings,  disclosed  the  god, 
And  in  his  hand  he  bore  the  sleep-compelling  rod: 
Such  as  he  seem'''.,  when  at  his  sire's  command 
On  Argus'  head  he  laid  the  snaky  wand. 

*  Arise  !'  he  said  ;  *  to  conquering  Athens  go  ; 
There  fate  appoints  an  end  of  all  thy  woe  !' 
The  fright  awaken'd  Arcite  with  a  start, 
-Against  his  bosom  bounced  his  heaving  heart ; 
But  soon  he  said,  with  scarce  recover'd  breath, 

*  And  thither  will  I  go,  to  meet  my  death. 
Sure  to  be  slain  ;  but  death  is  my  desire, 
Since  in  Emilia's  sight  I  shall  expire  !' 

By  chance  he  spied  a  mirror  while  he  spoke, 
And,  gazing  there,  beheld  his  alter' d  look : 
Wondering,  he  saw  his  features  and  his  hue 
So  much  wers  changed  that  scarce  himself  he  knew. 
A  sudden  thought  then  starting  in  his  mind ; 

*  Since  I  in  Arcite  cannot  Ancite  find, 

The  world  may  search  in  vain  with  all  their  eyes, 
But  never  penetrate  through  this  disguise. 
Thanks  to  the  change  which  grief  and  sicknes^i  give, 
In  low  estate  I  may  securely  live. 
And  see.,  unknown,  my  mistress  day  by  day.* 
He  said ;  and  clothed  himself  in  coarse  array : 
A  labouring  hind  in  show ;  then  forth  he  went, 
And  to  th'  Athenian  towers  his  journey  bent: 


28 


FABLES. 


One  squire  attended,  in  the  same  disguise, 
3\Iade  conscious  of  his  master's  enterprise. 
Arrived  at  Athens,  soon  he  came  to  court, 
Unknown,  unquestion'd  in  that  thick  resort; 
Proffering  for  hire  his  service  at  the  gate. 
To  drudge,  draw  water,  and  to  run  or  wait. 

So  fair  befell  him,  that  for  little  gain 
He  served  at  first  Emilia's  chamberlain ; 
And  watchful  all  advantages  to  spy, 
Was  still  at  hand,  and  in  his  master's  eye  j 
And  as  his  bones  were  big,  and  sinews  strong, 
Refused  no  toil  that  could  to  slaves  belong : 
But  from  deep  wells  with  engines  water  drew. 
And  used  his  noble  hands  the  wood  to  hew. 
He  pass'd  a  year  at  least,  attending  thus 
Oh  Emily,  and  call'd  Philostratus. 
But  never  was  there  man  of  his  degree 
So  muclj  esteem'd,  so  well  beloved  as  he. 
So  gentle  of  condition  was  he  known. 
That  through  the  court  his  courtesy  was  blown ; 
All  think  him  worthy  of  a  greater  place. 
And  recommend  him  to  the  royal  grace  ; 
That,  exercised  within  a  higher  sphere, 
His  virtues  more  conspicuous  might  appear. 
Thus,  by  the  general  voice,  was  Arcite  praised. 
And  by  great  Theseus  to  high  favour  raised  ; 
Among  his  menial  servants  first  enroll'd, 
And  largely  entertain* d  with  sums  of  gold  : 
Besides  what  secretly  from  Thebes  was  sent. 
Of  his  own  income,  and  his  annual  rent ; 
This  well  employ'd,  he  purchased  friends  and  famfl^ 
But  cautiously  conceal' d  from  whence  it  came. 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE. 

Thus,  for  three  years,  he  lived  with  large  increase, 
In  arms,  of  honour  ;  and  esteem,  in  peace  ; 
To  Theseus'  person  he  was  ever  near, 
And  Theseus  for  his  virtues,  held  lam  dear. 


PALAMON    AND  ARCITE 


BOOK  n. 

While  Arcite  lives  in  bliss,  the  story  turns 
Where  hopeless  Palamon  in  prison  mourns. 
For  six  long  years  immured,  the  captive  knight 
Had  dragg'd  his  chains,  and  scarcely  seen  the  light  t 
Lost  liberty  and  love  at  once  he  bore  ; 
His  prison  pain'd  him  much,  his  passion  more  : 
Nor  dares  he  hope  his  fetters  to  remove, 
Xor  ever  wishes  to  be  free  from  love. 

But  when  the  sixth  revolving  year  was  run, 
And  ]\ray,  within  the  Twins,  received  the  sun  ; 
Were  it  by  chance,  or  forceful  destiny, 
Which  forms  in  causes  first  whate'er  shall  be, 
Assisted  by  a  friend,  one  moonless  night. 
This  P3,lamon  from  prison  took  his  flight : 
A  pleasant  beverage  he  prepared  before, 
Of  wine  and  honey  mix'd,  with  added  store 
Of  opium  ;  to  his  keeper  this  he  brought, 
Who  swallow 'd,  unaware,  the  sleepy  draught, 
And  snored  secure  till  morn  ;  his  senses  bound 
In  slumber,  and  in  long  oblivion  crown' d. 


FABLES. 


Short  was  the  night,  and  careful  Palamon 

Sought  the  next  covert  ere  the  rising  sun. 

A  thick-spread  forest  near  the  city  lay, 

To  this,  with  lengthened  strides,  he  took  his  way 

(For  far  he  could  not  fly,  and  fear'd  the  day), 

Safe  from  pursuit,  he  meant  to  shun  the  light, 

Till  the  brown  shadows  of  the  friendly  night 

To  Thebes  might  favour  his  intended  flight. 

When  to  his  country  come,  his  next  design 

Was  all  the  Theban  race  in  arms  to  join. 

And  war  on  Theseus,  till  he  lost  his  life. 

Or  won  the  beauteous  Emily  to  wife. 

Thus,  while  his  thoughts  the  lingering  day  be^ilO) 

To  gentle  Arcite  let  us  turn  our  style  ; 

Who  little  dream'd  how  nigh  he  was  to  care. 

Till  treacherous  fortune  caught  him  in  the  snare. 

The  morning  lark,  the  messenger  of  day. 

Saluted  in  her  song  the  morning  gray  ; 

And  soon  the  sun  arose,  with  beams  so  bright 

That  all  th'  horizon  laugh' d  to  see  the  joyous  sight 

He,  with  his  tepid  rays,  the  rose  renews. 

And  licks  the  drooping  leaves,  and  dries  the  dews ; 

When  Arcite  left  his  bed,  resolved  to  pay 

Observance  to  the  month  of  merry  IVIay  ; 

Forth  on  his  fiery  steed  betimes  he  rode. 

That  scarcely  prints  the  turf  on  which  he  trod  : 

At  ease  he  seem'd,  and,  prancing  o'er  the  plains, 

Turn'd  only  to  the  grove  his  horse's  reins, 

The  grove  I  named  before  ;  and,  lighted  there, 

A  woodbine-garland  sought  to  crown  his  hair  ; 

Then  turn'd  his  face  against  the  rising  day. 

And  raised  his  voice  to  welcome  in  the  May 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE.  3S 

*  For  thee,  sweet  month,  the  groves  green  liveries 
If  not  the  first,  the  fairest  of  the  year  ;  [wear ! 

For  thee  the  Graces  lead  the  dancing  Hours, 
And  Nature's  ready  pencil  paints  the  flowers  : 
When  thy  short  reign  is  pass'd,  the  feverish  sun 
The  sultry  tropic  fears,  and  moves  more  slowly  oq« 
So  may  thy  tender  blossoms  fear  no  blight. 
Nor  goats,  with  venom'd  teeth,  thy  tendrils  bite. 
As  thou  shalt  guide  my  wandering  feet  to  find 
The  fragrant  greens  I  seek,  my  brows  to  bind.* 

His  vows  address 'd,  within  the  grove  he  stray *d. 
Till  fate  or  fortune  near  the  place  convey'd 
His  steps  where  secret  Palamon  was  laid. 
Full  little  thought  of  him  the  gentle  knight, 
Who,  flying  death,  had  there  concealM  his  flight, 
In  brakes  and  brambles  hid,  and  shunning  mortal 
sight ; 

And  less  he  knew  him  for  his  hated  foe. 
But  fear'd  him  as  a  man  he  did  not  know. 
But  as  it  has  been  said  of  ancient  years. 
That  fields  are  full  of  eyes,  and  woods  have  ea?8. 
For  this  the  wise  are  ever  on  their  guard, 
For,  unforeseen  (they  say)  is  unprepared. 
Uncautious  Arcite  thought  himself  alone. 
And,  less  than  all,  suspected  Palamon ; 
Who,  listening,  heard  him,  while  he  search'd  tht 
grove. 

And  loudly  sung  his  roundelay  of  love  : 
But  on  the  sudden  stopp'd,  and  silent  stood, 
(As  lovers  often  muse  and  change  their  mood ; 
Now  high  as  heaven,  and  then  as  low  as  hell ; 
Now  up,  now  down,  as  buckets  in  a  well ; 

o 


94 


I  ABLES. 


For  Venus,  like  her  day,  will  chancre  her  cheer, 

And  seldom  shall  we  see  a  Friday  dear.) 

Thus  Arcite,  having  sung,  with  alter'd  hue 

Sunk  on  the  ground,  and  from  his  bosom  drc^*■ 

A  desperate  sigh,  accusing  heaven  and  fate, 

And  angry  Juno's  unrelenting  hate  : — 

*  Cursed  be  the  day  when  first  I  did  appear  ; 

Let  it  be  blotted  from  the  calendar. 

Lest  it  pollute  the  month,  and  poison  all  the  y^kr, 

Still  will  the  jealous  queen  pursue  our  race  ? 

Cadmus  is  dead,  tho  Theban  city  was  : 

Yet  ceases  not  her  hate  :  for  all  who  come 

From  Cadmus  are  involved  in  Cadmus'  doom. 

I  suffer  for  my  blood  :  unjust  decree  ! 

That  punishes  another's  crime  on  ;ne. 

In  mean  estate  I  serve  my  mortal  foe, 

The  man  who  caused  my  country's  overthr-ow. 

This  is  not  all ;  for  Juno,  to  ray  shame. 

Has  forced  me  to  forsake  my  former  name  ; 

Arcite  I  was,  Philostratu«  I  am. 

That  side  of  heaven  is  all  my  enemy  : 

Mars  ruin*d  Thebes  :  his  mother  ruin'd  me. 

Of  all  ike  royal  race  remains  but  one 

Besides  myself,  th'  unhappy  Palamon, 

Whom  Theseus  holds  in  bonds,  and  will  not  frcfl  i 

Without  a  crime,  except  his  kin  to  me. 

Yet  these,  and  all  the  rest,  I  could  endure ; 

But  love's  a  malady  without  a  cure  : 

Fierce  love  has  pierced  me  with  his  fiery  dart. 

He  fires  within,  and  hisses  at  my  heart. 

Your  eyes,  fair  Emily,  my  fate  pursue  ; 

I  suffer  for  the  rest,  I  die  for  you. 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE. 


35 


See  how  the  madmen  bleei  :  behold  the  gaing 
With  which  their  master,  Love,  rewards  their  paint. 
For  seven  long  years,  on  duty  every  day, 
Lo  !  their  obedience,  and  their  monarch's  pay  : 
Yet,  «s  in  duty  bound,  they  S'srve  him  on  ; 
And  Ask  the  foo^s,  they  think  it  wisely  done  : 
Noi  ease,  nor  wealth,  nor  life  itself  regard, 
FoV  'tis  their  maxim,  love  is  love's  reward  ! 
Thib  is  not  all ;  the  fair  for  whom  they  strove 
Nor  knew  before  nor  could  suspect  their  love, 
Nor  thought,  when  she  beheld  the  fight  from  far, 
Her  beauty  was  th'  occasion  of  the  war. 
But  sure  a  general  doom  on  man  is  pass'd, 
And  all  are  fooh  and  lovers,  first  or  last : 
This  both  by  others  and  myself  I  know, 
For  I  have  served  their  sovereign  long  ago  : 
Oft  have  been  caught  within  the  winding  trai* 
Of  female  snares,  and  felt  the  lover's  pain, 
And  learn'd  how  far  the  god  can  human  hearts  con* 
strain. 

fo  this  remembrance,  and  the  prayers  of  those 

Who,  for  th'  offending  warriors,  interpose, 

I  give  their  forfeit  lives  ;  on  this  accord, 

To  do  me  homage  as  their  sovereign  lord  ; 

And,  as  my  vassals,  to  their  utmost  might 

Assist  my  person,  and  assert  my  righ-t.' 

This,  freely  sworn,  the  knights  their  grace  obtained 

Then  thus  the  king  his  secret  thoughts  explain'd : 

*  If  wealth,  or  honour,  or  a  royal  race, 

Or  each,  or  all,  may  win  a  lady's  grace. 

Then  either  of  you  knights  may  well  deserve 

A  princess  born  ;  and  such  is  she  you  serve  j 


96 


FABUS. 


The  surety  which  I  gave  thee,  I  defy ; 

Fool,  not  to  know  that  love  endure?  no  tie ; 

And  Jove  but  laughs  at  lovers'  perjury. 

Know,  I  will  serve  thee  fair  in  thy  despite  ; 

But  since  thou  art  my  kinsman,  and  a  knight. 

Here,  have  my  faith  ;  to-morrow,  in  this  grove, 

Our  arms  shall  plead  the  titles  of  our  love  : 

And  Heaven  so  help  my  right,  as  I  alone      [Ten own, 

Will  come,  and  keep  the  cause  and  quarrel  both  un- 

"With  arms  of  proof  both  for  myself  and  thee  ; 

Choose  thou  the  best,  and  leave  the  worst  to  me. 

And,  that  at  better  ease  thou  mayst  abide, 

Bedding  and  clothes  I  will  this  night  provide, 

And  needful  sustenance,  that  thou  mayst  be 

A  conquest  better  won,  and  worthy  me.' 

His  promise  Palamon  accepts  ;  but  pray'd 

To  keep  it  better  than  the  first  he  made. 

Thus  fair  they  parted  till  the  morrow's  dawn  ; 

For  each  had  laid  his  plighted  faith  to  pawn. 

Oh  Love  !  thou  sternly  dost  thy  power  maintain. 

And  wilt  not  bear  a  rival  in  thy  reign  ; 

Tyrants  and  thou  all  fellowship  disdain. 

This  was  in  Arcite  proved  and  Palamon, 

Both  in  despair,  yet  each  would  love  alone. 

Arcite  retur»n'd,  and,  as  in  honour  tied. 

His  foe  with  bedding  and  with  food  supplied  ; 

Then,  ere  the  day,  two  suits  of  armour  sought. 

Which,  borne  before  him,  on  his  steed  he  brought  : 

Both  were  of  shining  steel,  and  wrought  so  pure, 

As  might  the  strokes  of  two  such  arms  endure. 

Now,  at  the  time,  and  in  th'  appointed  place. 

The  challenger  and  challenged,  face  to  facQ, 


PALAMON  AND  AKCITE. 


V 


Approach  ;  each  other  from  afar  they  knew, 

And  from  afar  their  hatred  changed  their  hue. 

So  stands  the  Thracian  herdsman  with  his  spear, 

Full  in  the  gap,  and  hopes  the  hunted  bear, 

And  hears  him  rustUng  in  the  wood,  and  sees 

His  course  at  distance  by  the  bending  trees  ; 

And  thinks,  here  comes  my  mortal  enemy, 

And  either  he  must  fall  in  fight,  or  I : 

This,  while  he  thinks,  he  lifts  aloft  his  dart ; 

A  generous  chillness  seizes  every  part ; 

The  veins  pour  back  the  blood,  and  fortify  the  heart* 

Thus  pale  they  meet ;  their  eyes  with  fury  burn  ; 
None  greets  ;  for  none  the  greeting  will  return  : 
But  in  dumb  surliness,  each  arm'd  with  care 
His  foe  profess'd,  as  brother  of  the  war : 
Then  both,  no  moment  lost,  at  once  advance 
Against  each  other,  arm'd  with  sword  and  lance  : 
They  lash,  they  foin,  they  pass,  they  strive  to  bore 
Their  corslets,  and  the  thinnest  parts  explore. 
Thus,  two  long  hours,  in  equal  arms  they  stood, 
And  wounded,  wound ;  till  both  were  bathed  in 
blood ; 

And  not  a  foot  of  ground  had  either  got. 

As  if  the  world  depended  on  the  spot. 

Fell  Arcite  like  an  angry  tiger  fared, 

And  like  a  lion  Palamon  appear' d  : 

Or  as  two  boars  whom  love  to  battle  draws, 

With  rising  bristles,  and  with  frothy  jaws. 

Their  adverse  breasts  with  tusks  oblique  they  wound^ 

With  grunts  and  groans  the  forest  rings  around : 

So  fought  the  knights,  and  fighting  must  abide. 

Till  fate  an  umpire  sends  their  difference  to  decide* 


38 


FAB  LIS. 


The  powe^  thit  miiiisters  to  God's  decrees, 
And  executes  on  earth  what  Heaven  foresees, 
Caird  providence,  or  chance,  or  fatal  sway, 
Conies  with  resistless  force,  and  finds  or  makes  her 
way. 

Nor  kings,  nor  nations,  nor  united  power, 

One  moment  can  retard  th'  appointed  hour : 

And  some  one  day,  some  wondrous  chance  appear*, 

Which  happen'd  not  in  centuries  of  years  : 

For  sure,  whatever  we  mortals  hate  or  love, 

Or  hope  or  fear,  depends  on  powers  above  ; 

They  move  our  appetites  to  good  or  ill. 

And  by  foresight  necessitate  the  will. 

In  Theseus  this  appears  ;  whose  5'outhful  joy 

Was  beasts  of  chase  in  forests  to  destroy  : 

This  gentle  knight,  inspired  by  jolly  May, 

Forsook  his  easy  couch  at  early  day. 

And  to  the  woods  and  wilds  pursued  his  way. 

Beside  him  rode  Hippolita,  the  queen. 

And  Emily,  attired  in  lively  green. 

W'.'lh.  horns  and  hounds,  and  all  the  tuneful  cry, 

To  hunt  a  royal  hart  within  the  covert  nigh  : 

And  as  he  foUow'd  Mars  before,  so  now 

He  serves  the  goddess  of  the  silver  bow. 

The  way  that  Theseus  took  was  to  the  wood 

Where  the  two  knights  in  cruel  battle  stood  : 

The  land  on  which  they  fought,  th*  appointed  place 

In  which  th'  uncoupled  hounds  began  the  chase. 

Thither  forth-right  he  rode  to  rouse  the  prey. 

That  shaded  by  the  fern  in  harbour  lay  ; 

And  thence  dislodged,  was  wont  to  leave  the  wooQ, 

For  open  fields,  and  cross  the  crystal  flood. 


PALAMON  AXD  ARCITE. 


ApproPiCl/J,  and  looking  underneath  the  sun, 
He  saw  proud  Arcite  and  fierce  Palamon 
In  mortal  battle,  doubUng  blow  on  blov.' ; 
Like  lightning  flamed  their  falchions  to  and  fro. 
And  shot  a  dreadful  gleam  ;  so  strong  they  strutic. 
There  seern'd  less  force  required  to  fell  an  oak. 
He  gazed  with  wonder  on  their  equal  might, 
Look'd  eager  on,  but  knew  not  either  knight : 
Hcsolved  to  learn,  he  spurr'd  his  fiery  steed 
With  goring  rowels,  to  j)rovoke  his  speed. 
The  minute  ended  that  began  the  race, 
So  soon  he  was  betwixt  them  on  the  place  ; 
And,  with  his  sword  unsheath'd,  on  pain  of  life 
Commands  both  combatants  to  cease  their  strife  : 
Then,  with  imperious  tone,  pursues  his  threat, 
*  What  are  ycu  ?  Why  in  arnif,  together  met  ? 
How  dares  your  pride  presume  against  my  laws, 
As  in  a  listed  field  to  fight  your  cause, 
TJnask'd  the  royal  grant :  no  marshal  by 
As  knightly  rites  require  ;  no  judge  to  try  ?* 
Then  Palamon,  with  scarce-recover'd  breath, 
Thus  hasty  spoke  :  *  We  both  deserve  the  death. 
And  both  would  die  ;  for  look  the  world  around, 
A  pair  so  wretched  is  not  to  be  found. 
Our  life's  a  load  ;  encumber' d  with  the  charge. 
We  long  to  set  tb.'  imprison 'd  soul  at  large. 
Now  as  thou  art  a  sovereign  judge,  decree 
The  rightful  doom  of  death  to  him  and  me  ; 
Let  neither  find  thy  grace  ;  for  grace  is  cruelty. 
Me  first !  O,  kill  me  first !  and  cure  my  woe ; 
Then  sheathe  the  sword  of  justice  on  mj  tot  i 


40 


FABLES. 


Or  kill  him  first ;  for  when  his  name  is  heard, 

He,  foremost,  will  receive  his  due  reward. 

Arcite  of  Thebes  is  he  !  thy  mortal  foe, 

On  whom  thy  grace  did  liberty  bestow  ; 

But  first  conlr^-cted,  that  if  ever  found 

By  day  or  night  upon  th'  Athenian  ground, 

His  head  should  pay  the  forfeit ;  see  return' d 

The  perjured  knifrht,  his  oath  and  honour  &corn'd  I 

For  this  is  he,  "'oo,  with  a  borrow 'd  name, 

And  proper' d  service,  to  thy  palace  cam«, 

Now  call'd  Philcstratus  :  retain  d  by  thee, 

A  traitor  trusted  and  in  high  decree, 

Aspiring  to  the  bed  of  beauteous  Kmily. 

My  part  remains  • — From  'I'hcbes  my  birth  1  own, 

And  Cu.l  myself  th'  -.i.^ifj  y  Palamon. 

Thir.k  n:  c  not  bUt  thai  n,an  ;  sii.te  no  diAgrare 

Can  foitt  K-e  ^o  rcnuii;ict       honour  of  my  r*»:e  ; 

Know  me  for  ^^hat  T  am  ;  1  bioke  thy  chain, 

Nor  prorn-'cd  1  thy  prif  ^'i-r  tu  remain : 

The  I'j-^t  of  Ll.erly  witb  life  is  given, 

And  life  itself  i,h'  infeiior  gift  of  Heaven, 

Thui,  vvhhrui  crirno,  I  s!cd  ;  but  lurther  knew, 

I,  with  this  Arcite,  am  i::7  niv)rtal  foe  : 

Then  give  ncc  dcHuh.  sirice  I  thy  life  pursuo, 

For  safej?;uarvi  (  f  tlivs'^lf,  death  is  my  due. 

More  wonldst  thou  kr.ow  7   i  love  bright  Emily, 

And  for  her  sake  and  in  her  sight  v'ill  die  : 

But  kill  my  rival  too  :  for  he  no  less 

Deserves  ;  and  I  thy  righteous  doom  will  bless  ; 

Assured,  that  what  I  lose,  he  never  shall  posiesa.* 

To  this  replied  the  stern  Athenian  prince. 

And  sourly  smiled,  *  In  owning  your  offence 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE. 


41 


You  judge  yourself ;  and  I  but  keep  record 
In  place  of  law,  while  you  pronounce  the  word. 
Take  your  desert,  the  death  you  have  decreed  ; 
I  seal  your  doom,  and  ratify  the  deed. 
By  Mars,  the  patron  of  my  arms,  you  die  \  * 

He  said  :  dumb  sorrow  seized  the  standers  by. 
The  queen  above  the  rest,  by  nature  good, 
(The  pattern  form'd  of  perfect  womanhood) 
For  tender  pity  wept :  when  she  began. 
Through  the  bright  quire  th'  infectious  virtue  ran. 
All  dropp'd  their  tears,  e'en  the  contended  maid  j 
And  thus,  among  themselves,  they  softly  said : 
'  What  eyes  can  suffer  this  unworthy  sight ! 
Two  youths  of  royal  blood,  renown'd  in  fight, 
The  mastership  of  Heaven  in  face  and  mind, 
And  lovers,  far  beyond  their  faithless  kind  : 
See  their  wide  streaming  wounds  ;  they  neither  camo 
For  pride  of  empire  nor  desire  of  fasne  : 
Kings  fight  for  kingdoms,  madmen  for  applause  ; 
But  love  for  love  alone ;  that  crowns  the  lover's  cause ! ' 
This  thought,  which  ever  bribes  the  beauteous  kind, 
Such  pity  wrought  in  every  lady's  mind. 
They  left  their  steeds,  and  prostrate  on  the  place, 
From  the  fierce  king  implored  th'  offenders'  gracCi 

He  paused  awhile,  stood  silent  in  his  mood 
(For  yet  his  rage  was  boiling  in  his  blood). 
But  soon  his  tender  mind  th'  impre8sii>n  felt 
(As  softest  metals  are  not  slow  to  mel-t. 
And  pity  soonest  runs  in  softest  minds  :) 
Then  reasons  with  himself  ;  and  first  ho  finds 
His  passion  cast  a  mist  before  his  sense, 
And  either  made,  or  magnified  th*  offence. 


FABLES. 


Offence  ?  of  what  ?  to  whom  ?    Who  jiidgod  the 
cause  ? 

'She  prisoner  freed  himself  by  nature's  laws  : 
Born  free,  he  sought  his  right :  the  man  he  I'reed 
Was  perjured,  but  his  love  excused  the  deed. 
Thus  pondering,  he  look'd  under  with  his  eyes, 
And  saw  the  women's  tears,  and  heiird  ilieir  cries  : 
Which  moved  compassion  more  :  he  shook  his  head» 
And,  softly  sighing  to  himself,  he  said  : — 
*  Curse  on  th'  unpardoning  prince,  whom  tears  cao 
draw 

To  no  remorse  ;  who  rules  by  lions'  law  ; 
And  deaf  to  prayers,  by  no  submission  bow'd, 
Kends  all  alike,  the  penitent  and  pro\ul :' 
At  this,  with  look  serene,  he  raised  his  head. 
Reason  resumed  her  place,  and  passion  fled  ; 
Then  thus  aloud  he  spoke  :  '  The  power  of  Love, 
In  earth,  and  seas,  and  air,  and  Heaven  above, 
Kules  unresisted,  with  an  awful  nod  ; 
By  daily  miracles  declared  a  god  : 
He  blinds  the  wise,  gives  eyesight  to  the  blind  ; 
And  moulds  and  stamps  anew  the  lover's  mind. 
Behold  that  Arcite,  and  this  Palamon, 
Freed  from  my  fetters,  and  in  safety  gone  ; 
What  hinder' d  either,  in  their  native  soil, 
At  ease  to  reap  the  harvest  of  their  toil  ? 
But  Love,  their  lord,  did  otherwise  ordain, 
And  brought  them  in  their  own  despite  again, 
To  suffer  death  deserved  ;  for  well  they  know, 
'Tis  in  my  power,  and  I  their  deadly  foe  j 
The  proverb  holds,  that  to  be  w  ise  and  loy» 
Is  hardly  graiited  to  the  gods  above. 


?ALAMON  AND  ARCITE. 


Of  such  a  goddess  no  time  leaves  record, 
Who  burn'd  the  temple  where  she  was  adored : 
And  let  it  burn,  I  never  will  complain. 
Pleased  with  ray  sufferings,  if  you  knew  my  paitt: 

At  this  a  sickly  qualm  his  heart  assail 'd, 
His  ears  ring  inward,  and  his  senses  fail'd. 
No  word  miss'd  Palamon  of  all  he  spoke. 
But  soon  to  deadly  pale  he  changed  his  look  : 
He  trembled  every  limb,  and  felt  a  smart. 
As  if  cold  steel  had  glided  through  his  heart ; 
Nor  longer  staid,  but,  starting  from  his  place, 
Discover'd  stood,  and  show'd  his  hostile  face  : 

*  False  traitor,  Arcite  !  traitor  to  thy  blood, 
Bound  by  thy  sacred  oath  to  seek  my  good, 
Now  art  thou  found  forsworn,  for  Emily  ; 
And  darest  attempt  her  love,  for  whom  I  die. 
So  hast  thou  cheated  Theseus  with  a  wile, 
Against  thy  vow,  returning  to  beguile 
Under  a  borrow'd  name  :  as  false  to  me, 

So  false  thou  art  to  him  who  set  thee  free  j 
But  rest  assured,  that  either  thou  shalt  die, 
Or  else  renounce  thy  claim  in  Emily  : 
For  though  unarm'd  I  am,  and  (freed  by  chance) 
And  here  without  my  sword  or  pointed  lance, 
Hope  not,  base  man,  unquestion'd  hence  to  go. 
For  I  am  Palamon,  thy  mortal  foe.' 

Arcite,  who  heard  this  tale,  and  know  the  man. 
His  sword  unsheath'd,  and  fiercely  thus  began : 

*  Now,  by  the  gods,  who  govern  Heaven  above  I 
Wert  thou  not  weak  with  hunger,  mad  with  love, 
That  word  had  been  thy  last ;  or  in  this  grove 
This  hand  sLould  force  thee  to  renounce  thy  love* 

£  2 


44 


FABLES, 


For  Emily  is  sister  to  the  crown, 
And  but  too  well  to  both  her  beauty  known  : 
But  should  you  combat  till  you  both  were  dead. 
Two  lovers  cannot  shave  a  single  bed  : 
As  therefore  both  are  equal  in  degree, 
The  lot  of  both  be  left  to  destiny. 
Now  hear  th'  award,  and  happy  may  it  prove 
To  her,  and  him  who  best  deserves  her  love. 
Depart  from  hence  in  peace,  and,  free  as  air. 
Search  the  wide  world,  and  where  you  please  re« 
pair ; 

But  on  the  day  when  this  returning  sun 

To  the  same  point  through  every  sign  has  run, 

Then  eacli  of  you  his  hundred  knights  shall  bring, 

In  royal  lists,  to  fight  before  the  king  ; 

And  then,  the  knight  whom  fate  or  happy  chance 

Shall  with  his  friends  to  victory  advance, 

And  grace  his  arms  so  far  in  er^ual  fight, 

From  out  the  bars  to  force  his  oj)posite, 

Or  kill,  or  make  him  recreant  on  the  plain, 

The  prize  of  valour  and  of  love  shall  gain  ; 

The  vanquish' d  party  shall  their  claim  release. 

And  the  long  jars  conclude  in  lasting  peace. 

The  charge  be  mine  to  adorn  the  chosen  ground, 

The  theatre  of  war,  for  champions  so  r€nown'd  ; 

And  take  the  patron's  place  of  either  knight, 

With  eyes  impartipl  to  behold  the  fight ; 

And  Heaven  of  me  so  judge,  as  I  shall  judge  aright. 

If  both  are  satisfied  with  this  accord. 

Swear  by  the  laws  of  knighthood  on  my  sword.* 

Who  now  but  Palamon  exults  with  joy  ? 
And  ravish 'd  Arcite  seems  to  touch  the  sky. 


PALAMOX  AND  ABCITE.  '  45 


The  whole  assembled  troop  was  pleased  as  Vvell, 

Extoird  th'  award,  and  on  their  knees  they  fell 

To  bless  the  gracious  king.    The  knights,  with  leave 

Departing  from  the  place,  his  last  commands  receive; 

On  Emily  with  equal  ardour  look, 

And  from  her  eyes  their  inspiration  took  : 

From  thence  to  Thebes'  old  walls  pursue  their  way, 

Each  to  provide  his  champions  for  the  day. 

It  might  be  deem'd,  on  our  historian's  part, 
Or  too  much  negligence  or  want  of  art. 
If  he  forgot  the  vast  magnificence 
Of  royal  Theseus,  and  his  large  expense. 
He  first  inclosed  for  lists  a  level  ground. 
The  whole  circumference  a  mile  around  : 
The  form  was  circular ;  and  all  without 
A  trench  was  sunk,  to  moat  the  place  about. 
Within,  an  amphitheatre  appear'd, 
Raised  in  degrees  ;  to  sixty  paces  rear'd  : 
That  when  a  man  was  placed  in  one  degree. 
Height  Mas  allow'd  for  him  above  to  see. 

Eastward  was  built  a  gate  of  marble  white  ; 
The  like  adorn' d  the  western  opposite. 
A  nobler  object  than  his  fabric  was, 
Rome  never  saw  ;  nor  of  so  vast  a  space, 
For,  rich  with  spoils  of  many  a  conquer'd  land, 
All  arts  and  artists  Theseus  could  command  ; 
Who  sold  for  hire,  or  wrought  for  better  fame. 
The  master-painters,  and  the  carvers  came. 
So  rose  within  the  compass  of  the  year 
An  age's  work,  a  glorious  theatre. 
Then  o'er  its  eastern  gate  was  raised  above 
A  temple,  sacred  to  the  queen  of  love  ; 


40 


FABLES. 


An  altar  stood  below  :  on  cither  hand 
A  priest,  with  roses  crown 'd,  who  held  a  myrti« 
wand. 

The  dome  of  Jfars  was  on  the  gate  opposed  ; 
And  on  the  north  a  turret  was  enclosed. 
Within  the  wall,  of  alabaster  white 
And  crimson  coral,  for  the  queen  of  night ; 
Who  takes  in  silvan  sports  her  chaste  delight. 

Within  these  oratories  might  you  see 
Kich  carvings,  portraitures,  and  imagery  ; 
Where  every  figure  to  the  life  express' d 
The  godhead's  power  to  whom  it  was  address' d. 
In  Venus'  temple,  on  the  sides  were  seen 
The  broken  slumbers  of  enamour' d  men  : 
Prayers  that  e'en  spoke,  and  pity  seem'd  to  call, 
And  issuing  sighs  that  smoked  along  the  wall, 
Complaints,  and  hot  desires,  the  lover's  hell, 
And  scalding  tears,  that  wore  a  channel  where  they 
fell  : 

And  all  around  were  nuptial  bonds,  the  ties 
Of  love's  assurance,  and  a  train  of  lies. 
That,  made  in  lust,  concludes  in  perjuries. 
Beauty,  and  youth,  and  wealth,  and  luxury. 
And  s^)rightly  hope,  and  short-enduring  joy  ; 
And  sorceries  to  raise  tk'  infernal  powers. 
And  sigils  framed  in  planetary  hours  ; 
Expense,  and  after- thought,  and  idle  care, 
And  doubts  of  motley  hue,  and  dark  despair  ; 
Suspicions,  and  fantastical  surmise, 
And  Jealousy  suffused,  with  jaundice  in  her  eyefc 
JHscolouring  all  she  vicw'd,  in  tawny  dress' d, 
Down-look'd,  and  with  a  cuckoo  on  her  fist. 


PALAMON  AXD  ARCITE. 


47 


Opposed  to  lier,  on  th'  other  side,  advance 
The  costly  feast,  the  carol,  and  the  dance, 
Minstrels  and  music,  poetry  and  play, 
And  balls  by  night,  and  tournaments  by  day. 
AH  these  were  painted  on  the  wall,  and  more ; 
With  acts  and  monuments  of  times  before  : 
And  others  added  by  prophetic  doom, 
And  lovers  yet  unborn,  and  loves  to  come  : 
For  there,  tli'  Idalian  mount,  and  Citheron^ 
The  court  of  Venus,  was  in  colours  drawn  : 
Before  the  palace- gate,  in  careless  dress. 
And  loose  array,  sat  portress  Idleness  : 
There,  by  the  fount,  Narcissus  pined  alone  ; 
There  Samson  was,  with  wiser  Solomon, 
And  all  the  mighty  names  by  love  undone  : 
Medea's  charms  were  there,  Circcan  feasts, 
With  bowls  that  turn'd  enamour' d  youths  to  beastsu 
Here  might  be  seen,  that  beauty,  wealth,  and  wit, 
And  prowess,  to  the  powers  of  love  submit  : 
The  spreading  snare  for  all  mankind  is  laid  ; 
And  lovers  all  betray,  and  are  betray' d. 
The  goddess'  self,  some  noble  hand,  had  wrought; 
Smiling  she  seem'd,  and  full  of  pleasing  thought : 
From  ocean  as  she  first  began  to  rise. 
And  smooth 'd  the  ruffled  seas,  and  clear' d  the 
skies ; 

She  trod  the  brine,  all  bare  below  the  breast, 
And  the  green  waves  but  ill  conceal'd  the  rest : 
A  lute  she  held  ;  and  on  her  head  was  seen 
A  wreath  of  roses  red,  and  myrtles  green  : 
Her  turtles  fann'd  the  buxom  air  above  ; 
And,  by  his  mother,  stood  an  infant  Lov« 


48 


FABLES. 


With  wings  unfledged  ;  his  eyes  were  banded  o'er; 

His  hands  a  how,  his  back  a  quiver  bore, 

Suppfied  with  ar?ows  bright  and  keen,  a  deadly  store. 

But  in  the  dome  of  mighty  Mars  the  red, 
With  different  figures  all  the  sides  were  spread  : 
This  temple,  less  in  form,  with  equal  grace 
Was  imitative  of  the  first  in  Thrace  : 
For  that  cold  region  was  the  loved  abode 
And  sovereign  mansion  of  the  warrior- god. 
The  landscape  was  a  forest  wide  and  bare. 
Where  neither  beast  nor  humankind  repair  : 
The  fowl,  that  scent  afar,  the  borders  fly, 
And  shun  the  bitter  blast,  and  wheel  about  the  sky. 
A  cake  of  scurf  lies  baking  on  the  ground. 
And  prickly  stubs,  instead  of  trees,  are  found  ; 
Or  woods,  with  knots  and  knares  deformed  and  old ; 
Headless  the  most,  and  hideous  to  behold  : 
A  rattling  tempest  through  the  branches  went, 
That  stripp'd  them  bare,  and  one  sole  way  they  bent. 
Heaven  froze  above,  severe  ;  the  clouds  congeal, 
And  through  the  crystal  vault  appear'd  the  standing 
hail. 

Such  was  the  face  without ;  a  mountain  stood 
Threatening  from  high,  and  overlook'd  the  wood. 
Beneath  the  louring  brow,  and  on  a  bent, 
The  temple  stood  of  Mars  armipotent : 
The  frame  of  burnish 'd  steel,  that  cast  a  glare 
From  far,  and  seemed  to  thaw  the  freezing  air. 
A  straight  long  entry  to  the  temple  led, 
Blind  with  high  walls,  and  horror  overhead  : 
Thence  issued  such  a  blast,  and  hollow  roar, 
As  threatened  from  the  hinge  \^  heave  the  doot^ 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE. 


49 


In,  through  that  door,  a  northern  light  there  shone  ; 
*Twas  all  it  had,  for  windows  there  were  none. 
The  gate  was  adamant ;  eteinal  frame  ! 
Which,  hew' J  by  Mars  himself,  from  Indian  quarries 
came. 

The  labour  of  a  god  ;  and  all  along 
Tough  iron  plates  were  clench 'd  to  make  it  strong. 
A  tun  about  was  every  pillar  there  ; 
A  polish'd  mirror  sVione  not  half  so  clear. 
There  saw  I  how  the  secret  felon  wrought, 
And  treason  labouring  in  the  traitor's  thought ; 
And  midwife  Time  the  ripen'd  plot  to  murdei 
brought. 

There,  the  red  anger  dared  the  pallid  fear  ; 

Next  stood  Hypocrisy,  with  holy  leer  ; 

Soft-smiling,  and  demurely  looking  down, 

But  hid  the  dagger  underneath  the  gown  : 

Th'  assassinating  wife,  the  household  fiend; 

And,  far  the  blackest  there,  the  traitor-friend. 

On  th*  other  side  there  stood  destruction  bare  ; 

Unpunish'd  rapine,  and  a  wagte  of  war. 

Contest,  with  sharpen'd  knives,  in  cloisters  drawn, 

And  all  with  blood  bespread  the  holy  lawn. 

Loud  menaces  were  heard,  and  foul  disgrace, 

And  bawling  infamy,  in  lang-iage  base  ;  [place. 

Till  sense  was  lost  in  sound,  and  silence  fled  th« 

The  slayer  of  himself  yet  sa^v  I  there, 

The  gore  congeal 'd  was  clotted  in  his  hair ; 

With  eyes  half  closed,  and  gaping  mouth  he  lay, 

And  grim,  as  when  he  breathed  his  sullen  soul  away« 

In  mList  of  all  the  dome,  misfortune  sat. 

And  gloomy  discontent,  and  fell  debate ; 


FABLES. 


And  madness  laughing  in  his  ireful  mood  ; 

And  arni'd  complaint  on  theft ;  and  erics  of  blood* 

There  was  the  murder* d  corpse,  in  covert  laid, 

And  violent  death  in  thousand  shapes  display' d : 

The  city  to  the  soldier's  rage  resign 'd  : 

Successful  wars,  and  poverty  behind  : 

Ships  burh'd  in  fight,  or  forced  on  rocky  shores, 

And  the  rash  hunter  strangled  by  the  boars  : 

The  new-born  babe  by  nurses  overlaid  ; 

And  the  cook  caught  within  the  raging  fire  he  made. 

All  ills  of  Mars's  nature,  flame  and  steel; 

The  gasping  charioteer  beneath  the  wheel 

Of  his  own  car  ;  the  ruin'd  house,  that  falls 

And  intercepts  her  lord  betwixt  the  walls  : 

The  whole  division  that  to  Mars  pertains. 

All  trades  of  death  that  deal  in  steel  for  gains, 

Were  there  :  the  butcher,  armourer,  and  smith 

Who  forges  sharpen'd  falchions,  or  the  scythe. 

The  scarlet  conquest  on  a  tower  was  placed, 

With  shouts  and  soldiers'  acclamations  graced  : 

A  pointed  sword  hung  threatening  o'er  his  head, 

Sustain' d  but  by  a  slender  twine  of  thread. 

There  saw  I  Mars's  Ides,  the  capitol, 

The  seer  in  vain  foretelling  Cessar's  fall. 

The  last  triumvirs,  and  the  wars  they  move, 

And  Anthony,  who  lost  the  world  for  love  ! 

These,  and  a  thousand  more,  the  fane  adorn  ; 

Their  fates  were  painted  ere  the  men  were  born  ; 

All  copied  from  the  heavens,  and  ruling  force 

Of  the  red  star,  in  his  revolving  course. 

The  form  of  Mars  high  on  a  chariot  stood, 

All  sheath'd  in  arms,  and  gruffly  look'd  the  god  a 


PALAMON  AND  ABCITE. 


61 


Two  geomantic  figures  were  displayed 
Above  his  head,  a  warrior  and  a  maid*, 
One  when  direct,  and  one  when  retrograde. 

Tired  with  deformities  of  death,  I  haste 
To  the  third  temple  of  Diana  chaste  : — 
A  silvan  scene  with  various  greens  was  drawn, 
Shades  on  the  sides,  and  in  the  midst  a  lawn  : 
The  silver  Cynthia,  with  her  nymphs  around, 
Pursued  the  flying  deer,  the  woods  with  horn«  re- 
sound : 

Calisto  there  stood  manifest  of  shame, 

And,  turn'd  a  bear,  the  northern  star  became : 

Her  son  was  next,  and  by  peculiar  grace 

In  the  cold  circle  held  the  second  place  : 

The  stag  Acteon  in  the  stream  had  spied 

The  naked  huntress,  and,  for  seeing,  died  : 

His  hounds,  unknowing  of  his  change,  pursue 

The  chase,  and  their  mistaken  master  slew, 

Peneian  Daphne  too  was  there  to  see, 

Apollo's  love  before,  and  now  his  tree  : 

Th'  adjoining  fane  th'  assembled  Greeks  express'd, 

And  hunting  of  the  Calydonian  beast ; 

(Enides'  valour,  and  his  envied  prize  ; 

The  fatal  power  of  Atalanta's  eyes  ; 

Diana's  vengeance  on  the  victor  shown, 

The  murdress  mother,  and  consuming  son  ; 

The  Volscian  queen  extended  on  the  plain  ; 

The  treason  punish 'd,  and  the  traitor  slain. 

The  rest  were  various  huntings,  well  design*d, 

And  savage  beasts  destroy' d,  of  every  kind. 


*  Rubeus  an«l  Ptiella. 
■  2 


S3 


FABLES. 


The  graceful  goddess  was  array 'd  in  green ; 
About  her  feet  were  little  beagles  seen, 
That  watch'd  with  upward  eyes  the  motioriS  of  their 
queen. 

Her  legs  were  buskin' d,  and  the  left  before, 
In  act  to  shoot :  a  silver  bow  she  bore, 
And  at  her  back  a  painted  quiver  wore. 
She  trod  a  waxing  moon,  that  soon  would  wane, 
And,  .drinking  borrow 'd  light,  be  fill'd  again  : 
With  downcast  eyes,  as  seeming  to  survey 
The  dark  dominions,  her  alternate  sway. 
Before  her  stood  a  woman  in  her  throes, 
And  call'd  Lucina's  aid,  her  burden  to  dirclose. 
All  these  the  painter  drew  with  such  command, 
That  Nature  snatch' d  the  pencil  from  his  hand  ; 
Ashamed  and  angry,  that  his  heart  could  feign 
And  mend  the  tortures  of  a  mother's  pain. 
Theseus  beheld  the  fanes  of  every  god, 
And  thought  his  mighty  cost  was  well  bestow'd. 
So  princes  now  their  poets  should  regard  ; 
But  few  can  write,  and  fewer  can  reward. 

The  theatre  thus  raised,  the  lists  enclosed, 
And  all  with  vast  magnificence  disposed, 
We  leave  the  nionarch  phased  ;  and  haste  to  bring 
The  knights  to  combat ;  and  their  arms  to  sing. 


PALAMON    AND  ARCITR 


BOOK  III. 

The  day  rpproacli'd  when  fortune  should  decide 
Th'  important  enterprise,  and  give  the  bride  ; 
For  now,  the  rivals  round  the  world  had  sought, 
And  each  his  number,  well  appointed,  brought. 
The  nations  far  and  near  contend  in  choice, 
And  send  the  flower  of  war  by  public  voice  ; 
That  after,  or  before,  were  never  known 
Such  chiefs  ;  as  each  an  army  seem'd  alone. 
Beside  the  champions,  all  of  high  degree. 
Who  knighthood  loved,  and  deeds  of  chivalry, 
Throng'd  to  the  lists,  and  envied  to  behold 
The  names  of  others,  not  their  own  enrclPd. 
Nor  seems  it  strange  ;  for  every  noble  knight, 
Who  love'fj  the  fair,  and  is  endued  with  might, 
In  such  a  quarrel  would  be  proud  to  fight. 
There  breathes  not  scarce  a  man  on  British  ground 
(An  isle  for  love  and  arms  of  old  renown'd) 
But  would  have  sold  his  life  to  purchase  fame, 
To  Palamon  or  Arcite  sent  his  name  ; 


£4 


FABIES 


And  had  the  hind  selected  of  the  best, 
Half  had  come  hence,  and  let  the  world  provide<stht 
rest. 

A  hundred  knights  with  Palamon  there  came, 
Approved  in  fight,  and  men  of  mighty  name  ; 
Their  arms  were  several,  as  their  nations  were, 
But  furnish'd  all  alike  with  sword  and  spear. 
Some  wore  coat-armour,  imitating  scale  ; 
And  next  their  skins  were  stubborn  shirts  of  mail. 
Some  wore  a  breastplate  and  a  light  juppon*, 
Their  horses  clothed  with  rich  caparison  : 
Some  for  defence  would  leathern  bucklers  use, 
Of  folded  hides  ;  and  others,  shields  of  Prucef, 
One  hung  a  poleaxe  at  his  saddle-bow. 
And  one  a  heavy  mace,  to  stun  the  foe  : 
One  for  his  legs  and  knees  provided  well, 
With  jambeux  arm'd,  and  double  plates  of  steel : 
This  on  his  helmet  wore  a  lady's  glove, 
And  that,  a  sleeve  embroider' d  by  his  love. 

With  PalaiTwn,  above  the  rest  in  place, 
Lycurgus  came,  the  surly  king  of  Thrace  ; 
Black  was  his  beard,  and  manly  was  his  face : 
The  balls  of  his  broad  eyes  roU'd  in  his  head, 
And  glared  betwixt  a  yellow  and  a  red  : 
He  look'd  a  lion  with  a  gloomy  stare. 
And  o'er  his  eyebrows  hung  his  matted  hair: 
Big-boned,  and  large  of  limbs,  with  sinews  strong. 
Broad- shoulder' d,  and  his  arms  were  round  and  long, 
Four  milk-white  bulls  (the  Thracian  use  of  old) 
Were  yoked  to  draw  his  car  of  burnish' d  gold. 


A  dose  coat* 


t  Prussian  leather. 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE. 


55 


Upright  he  stood,  and  bore  aloft  his  shield, 
Conspicuous  from  afar,  and  overlook' d  the  field. 
His  surcoat  was  a  bear- skin  on  his  back  ; 
His  hair  hung  long  behind,  and  glossy  raven-black. 
His  ample  forehead  bore  a  coronet, 
With  sparkling  diamonds  and  with  rubies  set : 
Ten  brace,  and  more,  of  greyhounds,  snowy  fair, 
And  tall  as  stags,  ran  loose,  and  coursed  around  his 
chair ; 

A  match  for  pards  in  flight,  in  grappling  for  the  bear ; 
With  golden  muzzles  all  their  mouths  were  bound, 
And  collars  of  the  same  their  necks  surround. 
Thus  through  the  fields  Lycurgus  took  his  way  : 
His  hundred  knights  attend  in  pomp  and  proud 
array. 

To  match  this  monardi,  with  strong  Arcite  came 
Eraelrius,  king  of  Ind,  (a  mighty  name  !) 
On  a  bay  courser,  goodly  to  behold, 
The  trappings  of  his  horse  emboss' d  with  barbarous 
gold. 

Not  l\Iars  bestrode  a  steed  with  greater  grace  ; 

His  surcoat  o'er  his  arms  was  cloth  of  Thrace, 

Adorn' d  with  pearls,  all  orient,  round,  and  great ; 

His  saddle  was  of  gold,  with  emeralds  set. 

His  shoulders  large  a  mantle  did  attire. 

With  rubies  thick,  and  sparkling  as  the  fire  : 

His  amber- colour' d  locks  in  ringlets  run 

With  graceful  negligence,  and  shone  against  the  sun* 

His  nose  ^vas  aquiline,  his  eyes  were  blue, 

Ruddy  his  lips,  and  fresh  and  fair  his  hue  : 

Some  sprinkled  freckles  on  his  face  were  seen, 

Whose  dusk  set  off  the  whiteness  of  the  skia. 


56 


yABLES. 


His  awful  presence  did  the  crowd  surprise, 
Nor  dm-st  the  rash  spectator  meet  his  eyes  ; 
Eyes,  that  confess'd  him  born  for  kingly  sway, 
So  fierce,  they  flash'd  intolerable  day. 
His  age  in  nature's  youthful  prime  appear' d, 
And  just  began  to  bloom  his  yellow  beard  ; 
Whene'er  he  spoke,  his  voice  was  heard  around. 
Loud  as  a  trumpet,  with  a  silver  sound  ; 
A  laurel  wreath  his  temples,  fresh  and  green. 
And  myrtle  sprigs,  the  marks  of  love,  were  mix'd  be- 
tween ; 

Upon  his  fist  he  bore,  for  his  delight. 
An  eagle  well  reclaim' d,  and  lily-white. 

His  hundred  knights  attend  him  to  the  war, 
All  arm'd  for  battle,  save  their  heads  were  bare. 
Words  and  devices  blazed  on  every  shield. 
And  pleasing  was  the  terror  of  the  field, 
For  kings,  and  dukes,  and  barons  you  might  se-?, 
Like  sparkling  stars,  though  different  in  degree, 
All  for  th'  increase  of  arms,  and  love  of  chivalry. 
Before  the  king  tame  leopards  led  the  way. 
And  troops  of  lions  innocently  play  : 
So  Bacchus  through  the  coiiquer'd  Indies  rode. 
And  beasts  in  gambols  frisjt'd  before  their  honest 
god] 

In  this  ar-ay  the  war  of  either  side 
Tlirough  Athens  pass'd  with  military  pride. 
At  prime  they  enter' d,  on  the  Sunday  morn  ; 
Rich  tapestry  spread  the  streets,  and  flowers  the  po9t4 
adorn. 

The  town  was  all  a  jubilee  of  feasts  : 

So  Theseus  will'd,  in  honour  of  his  guests, 


PALAMON  AND  AKCITE. 


Himself  with  op§n  arms  the  king  embraced  ; 
Then  all  the  rest  in  their  degrees  were  graced, 
No  harbinger  was  needful  for  the  night, 
For  every  house  was  proud  to  lodge  a  knight, 

I  pass  the  ro3'al  treat,  nor  must  relate 
The  gifts  bestow' d,  nor  how  the  champions  sate ; 
Who  first,  who  last,  or  how  the  knights  address' d 
Their  vows,  or  who  was  fairest  at  the  feast ; 
\Vhase  voice,  v/hose  graceful  dance  did  most  surprise; 
Soft  amorous  sighs,  and  silent  love  of  eyes. 
The  rwals  call  my  IMuse  another  way, 
To  sing  their  vigils  for  th'  ensuing  day. 

'Twas  ebbing  darkness,  past  the  noon  of  night, 
And  Phos])hor,  on  the  confines  of  ihe  light. 
Promised  the  sun,  ere  day  began  to  spring ; 
The  tuneful  lark  already  stretch'd  her  wing, 
And,  flickering  on  her  nest,  made  short  essays  to 
sing: 

When  wakeful  Palamon,  preventing  day. 

Took  to  the  royal  lists  his  early  way. 

To  Venus  at  her  fane,  in  her  own  house  to  pray. 

There  falling  on  his  knees  before  her  shrine, 

He  thus  im;,lored  with  prayers  her  power  divine  :— - 

*  Creator  Venus  !  genial  power  of  love  ! 

The  bliss  of  men  below  and  gods  above  ! 

Beneath  the  sliding  sun  thou  runn'st  thy  race, 

Dost  fairest  shine  and  best  become  thy  place  : 

For  thee  the  winds  their  eastern  blasts  forbear ; 

Thy  month  reveals  the  spring,  and  opens  all  the  year* 

Tliee,  goddess  !  thee  the  storms  of  winter  fly  ; 

Earth  smiles  with  flowers  renewing  ;  laughs  the  sky  j 

And  birds  to  lays  of  love  their  tuneful  notes  apply. 


58 


FABLES. 


For  thee  the  hon  loathes  the  taste  (Jf  blooti, 
And,  roaring,  hunts  his  female  through  the  wo?ri| 
For  thee  the  bulls  rebellow  through  the  groves, 
And  tempt  the  streams,  and  snufF  their  absent 
loves. 

'Tis  thine  whate'er  is  pleasant,  good,  or  fair  ; 

All  nature  is  thy  province,  life  th)'  care  : 

Thou  niadest  the  world,  and  dost  the  world  repaif. 

Thou  gladder  of  the  mount  of  Cytheron; 

Increase  of  Jove,  companion  of  the  sun  ! 

If  e'er  Adonis  touch'd  thy  tender  heart, 

Have  pity,  goddess,  for  thou  know'st  the  smart* 

Alas  !  I  have  not  words  to  tell  my  grief ; 

To  vent  my  sorrow  v  ould  be  some  relief : 

Light  sufferings  give  us  leisure  to  complain ; 

We  groan,  but  cannot  speak,  in  greater  pain. 

O  goddess  !  tell  thvself  what  I  would  say  ; 

Thou  know'st  it,  a\.J  I  feel  too  much  to  pra^t 

Ro  grant  my  suit  as  I  enforce  niy  might, 

In  love  to  be  thy  champion  and  thy  knight  J 

A  servant  to  thy  sex,  a  slave  to  thee, 

A  foe  profess'd  to  barren  chastity. 

Nor  ask  I  fame  or  honour  of  the  field  ; 

Nor  choose  I  more  to  vanquish  than  to  yield  t 

In  my  divine  Emilia  make  me  bless' d, 

Let  fate  or  partial  chance  dispose  the  rest : 

Find  thou  the  manner  and  the  means  prepare  | 

Possession,  more  than  conquest,  is  my  care. 

Mars  is  the  warrior's  god  ;  in  him  it  lies, 

On  whom  he  favours  to  confer  the  prize; 

With  smiling  aspect  you  serenely  move 

Iq  your  fiUh  ofb,  and  rule  the  realm  of  love* 


ALAMON  AND  ARCITS. 


The  Fates  but  only  spin  the  coarser  clue  ; 

The  finest  of  the  wool  is  left  for  you. 

Spare  me  but  one  small  portion  of  the  twine, 

And  let  the  Sisters  cut  below  your  line  ; 

The  rest  among  the  rubbish  may  they  sweep, 

Or  add  it  to  the  yarn  of  some  old  miser's  heap. 

But  if  you  this  ambitious  prayer  deny 

(A  wish,  I  grant,  beyond  mortality), 

Then  let  me  sink  beneath  proud  Arcite's  arms. 

And  I  once  dead,  let  him  possess  her  charms  !* 

Thus  ended  he  :  then,  with  observance  due. 
The  sacred  incense  on  her  altar  threw. 
Tlic  curling  smoke  mounts  heavy  from  the  fires  ; 
At  length  it  catches  flame,  and  in  a  blaze  expires  i 
A-t  once  the  gracious  goddess  gave  the  sign, 
Her  statue  shook,  and  trembled  all  the  shrine. 
Pleased,  Palamon  the  tardy  omen  took  ; 
For,  since  the  flames  pursued  the  trailing  smoke, 
He  knew  his  boon  was  granted  :  but  the  day  [delay. 
To  distance  driven,  and  joy  adjourn'd  with  long 

Now  morn  with  rosy  light  had  streak' d  the  sky, 
(Jp  rose  the  sun,  and  up  rose  Emily  ; 
Address' d  her  early  steps  to  Cynthia's  fane, 
In  state,  attended  by  her  maiden  train. 
Who  bore  the  vests  that  holy  rites  require. 
Incense,  and  odorous  gums,  and  cover'd  fire. 
The  plenteous  horns  with  pleasant  mead  they  crown, 
Nor  wanted  aught  besides  in  honour  of  the  moon. 
Now,  while  the  temple  smoked  with  hallowed  steana, 
They  wash  the  virgin  in  a  living  stream. 
The  secret  ceremonies  I  conceal, 
Uncouth,  perhaps  unlawful,  to  reveal ; 


60 


FABLES, 


But  such  they  were  as  pagaa  use  required, 
Perform' d  by  women  when  the  men  retired  ; 
Whose  eyes  profane,  their  chaste  mysterious  rites 
Might  turn  to  scandal  or  obscene  dehghts. 
Well-meaners  think  no  harm  ;  but  for  the  rest, 
Things  sacred  they  pervert,  and  silence  is  the  best. 
Her  shining  hair,  uncomb'd,  was  loosely  spread, 
A  crown  of  mastless  oak  adorn'd  her  head, 
When,  to  the  shrine  approach' d,  the  spotless  maid 
Had  kindling  fires  on  either  altar  laid 
(The  rites  were  such  as  were  observed  of  old, 
By  Statins  in  his  Theban  story  told)  ; 
Then  kneeling,  with  her  hands  across  her  breast, 
Thus  lowly  she  preferr'd  her  chasie  request : — 
*  O  goddess  !  haunter  of  the  woodland  green, 
To  whom  both  heaven,  and  earth,  and  seas  are  seen, 
Queen  of  the  nether  skies,  where  half  tne  year 
Thy  silver  beams  descend,  and  light  the  gloomy 
sphere ; 

Goddess  of  maids  !  and  conr-cious  of  our  hearts, 

So  keep  me  from  the  vengeance  of  thy  darts. 

Which  Niobe's  devoted  issue  felt,  [were  dealt, 

When  hiesing  through  the  skies  the  feather' d  deaths 

As  I  desire  to  live  a  virgin  life, 

Nor  know  the  name  of  mother  or  of  wife. 

Thy  votaress  from  my  tender  years  I  am. 

And  love,  like  thee,  the  woods  and  si-Ivan  game. 

Like  death,  thou  know'st,  I  loathe  the  nuptial  state; 

And  man,  the  tyrant  of  our  sez,  I  hate  ; 

A  lowly  servant,  but  a  lofty  mate. 

Where  love  is  duty  on  the  female  side,  [pride. 

On  theirs  mere  sensual  gust,  and  sought  with  stuly 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE. 


81 


Now  by  thy  triple  shape,  as  thou  art  seen 
In  heaven,  earth,  hell,  and  every  where  a  queen, 
Grant  this,  my  first  desire  :  let  discord  cease, 
And  make  betwixt  the  rivals  lasting  peace  ; 
Quench  their  hot  fire,  or  far  from  me  remove 
The  flame,  and  turn  it  on  some  other  love. 
Or  if  my  frowning  stars  have  so  decreed 
That  one  must  be  rejected,  one  succeed, 
Make  him  my  lord  within  whose  faithful  breast 
Is  fix'd  my  image,  and  who  loves  me  best. 
But,  oh  !  e'en  that  avert !  I  choose  it  not ; 
But  take  it  as  the  least  unhappy  lot. 
A  maid  I  am,  and  of  thy  virgin  train  ; 
Oh,  let  me  still  that  spo'.less  name  retain  ! 
Frequent  the  forests,  thy  chaste  will  obey, 
And  only  make  the  beasts  of  chase  my  prey  !' 

The  flames  ascend  on  either  altar  clear, 
While  thus  the  blameless  maid  address'd  her  prayer, 
When  lo  !  the  burning  fire,  that  shone  so  bright, 
Flew  off,  all  sudden,  with  extinguish' d  light. 
And  left  one  altar  dark,  a  little  space, 
Which  turn'd,  self-kindled,  and  renew'd  the  blaze: 
The  other  victor-flame  a  moment  stood, 
Then  fell,  and  lifeless  left  th'  extinguish'd  wood; 
For  ever  lost,  th'  irrevocable  light 
Forsook  the  blackening  coals  and  sunk  to  night : 
At  either  end  it  whistled  as  it  flew, 
And  as  the  brands  were  green,  so  dropp'd  the  dew. 
Infected,  as  it  fell,  with  sweat  of  sanguine  hue. 

The  maid  from  that  ill  omen  turn'd  her  eyes. 
And  with  loud  shrieks  and  clamours  rent  the  skiefl  j 


02 


FABLES. 


Nor  kntw  what  signified  the  boding  sign, 

Put  found  the  powers  displeased,  and  fear'd  th« 

wrath  divine. 
Then  shook  the  sacred  shrine,  and  sudden  light 
Sprung  through  the  vaulted  roof,  and  made  the 

temple  bright. 
The  po'.ver,  }>ehold  !  the  power  in  glory  shone, 
By  her  bent  bow  and  her  keen  arrows  known  ; 
The  rest,  a  huntress  issuing  from  the  wood, 
Reclining  on  her  cornel  spear  she  stood. 
Then  gracious  thus  began  : — '  Dismiss  thy  fear. 
And  Heaven*s  unchanged  decrees  attentive  hear : 
More  powerful  gods  have  torn  thee  from  my  side, 
Unwilling  to  resign,  and  doom'd  a  bride: 
The  two  contending  knights  are  weigh' d  above  ; 
One  Mars  protects,  and  one  the  queen  of  Love  ; 
But  which  the  man,  is  in  the  Thunderer's  breast. 
This  he  pronounced — 'tis  he  who  loves  thee  best. 
The  fire,  that  once  extinct  revis  ed  again. 
Foreshows  the  love  allotted  to  remain  : 
Farewell !'  she  said,  and  vanish'd  from  the  place : 
The  sheaf  of  arrows  shook,  and  rattled  in  the  case. 
Aghast  at  this,  the  royal  virgin  stood 
])isclaim'd,  and  now  no  nvore  a  sister  of  the  wood  : 
But  to  the  parting  goddess  thus  she  pray'd  : 
*  Propitious  still  be  present  to  my  aid. 
Nor  quite  abandon  your  once  favour' d  maid  !' 
Then,  sighing,  she  return'd  ;  but  smiled  betwixt, 
With  hopes  and  fears,  and  joys  with  sorrows  mix'd* 

The  next  returning  planetary  hour 
Of  Mars,  who  shared  the  heptarchy  of  power, 


PALAMON  A.XD  ARCITE, 


63 


His  steps  bold  Arcite  to  the  temple  bent, 
T'  adore  with  pagan  rites  the  power  armipotent : 
Then  prostrate  low  before  his  altar  lay, 
And  raised  his  manly  voice,  and  thus  began  to  pray  t 
*  Strong  God  of  Arms,  whose  iron  sceptre  sways 
The  freezing  north  and  Hyperborean  seas, 
And  Scythian  colds,  and  Thracia's  winter  coast, 
Where  stand  thy  steeds,  and  thou  art  honour' d 
most : 

There  most ;  but  every  where  thy  power  is  known - 

The  fortune  of  the  fight  is  all  thy  own  : 

Terror  is  thine,  and  wild  amazement  flung 

From  out  thy  chariot,  withers  e'en  the  strong  ; 

And  disarray  and  shameful  route  ensue, 

And  force  is  added  to  the  fainting  crew. 

Aclcnowledged  as  thou  art,  accept  my  pray'r  : 

If  aught  I  have  achieved  deserve  thy  care  ; 

If  to  my  utmost  power,  with  sword  and  shield, 

I  dar,ed  the  death,  unknowing  how  to  yield  ; 

And,  falling  in  my  rank,  still  kept  the  field : 

Then  let  my  arms  prevail,  by  thee  sustain' d, 

That  Emily  by  conquest  may  be  gain'd. 

Have  pity  on  my  pains  ;  nor  those  unknown 

To  Mars,  which,  when  a  lover,  were  his  own. 

Venus,  the  public  care  of  all  above. 

Thy  stubborn  heart  has  soften' d  into  love  : 

Now,  by  her  blandishments  and  powerful  charms, 

When,  yielded,  she  lay  curling  in  thy  arms  ; 

Even  by  thy  shame,  if  shame  it  may  be  call'd, 

When  Vulcan  had  thee  in  his  net  enthrall' d  ; 

O  envied  ignominy  !  sweet  disgrace  I 

When  every  god  that  law  •^b**  A'ish'd  thy  pkc«  * 


54 


FABLES. 


By  those  dear  pleasures,  aid  my  arms  in  fight, 

And  make  me  conquer  in  my  patron's  right ; 

For  I  am  young,  a  novice  in  the  trade, 

The  fool  of  love,  unpractis'd  to  persuade  ; 

And  want  the  soothing  arts  that  catch  the  fair, 

But,  caught  myself,  lie  struggling  in  the  snare  : 

And  she  I  love,  or  laughs  at  all  my  pain,  [dain. 

Or  knows  her  worth  too  well,  and  pays  me  with  dis- 

For  sure  I  am,  unless  I  win  in  arms. 

To  stand  excluded  from  Emilia's  charms  r 

Nor  can  my  strength  avail,  unless  by  thee 

Endued  with  force,  I  gain  ^he  victory  : 

Then  for  the  fire  which  warm'd  thy  generous  heart, 

Pity  thy  subject's  pains  and  equal  smart : 

So  be  the  morrow's  sweat  and  labour  mine  ; 

The  palm  and  honour  of  the  conquest  thine. 

Then  shall  the  war,  and  stern  debate,  and  strife 

Immortal,  be  the  business  of  my  life  ; 

And  in  thy  fane,  the  dusty  spoils  among. 

High  on  the  burnish'd  roof  my  banners  ^iiall  be  hungfj 

Ilank'd  with  my  champions'  bucklers  ;  and  below^ 

With  arms  reversed,  th'  achievements  of  my  foe  : 

And  while  these  limbs  the  vital  spirit  feeds. 

While  day  to  night,  and  night  to  day  succeeds, 

Thy  smoking  altars  shall  be  fat  with  food 

Of  incense,  and  the  grateful  steam  of  blood  ; 

Burnt-offerings  morn  and  evening  shall  be  thine, 

And  fires  eternal  in  thy  temple  shine. 

The  bush  of  yellow  beard,  this  length  of  hair, 

Which  from  my  birth  inviolate  I  bear, 

Guiltless  of  steel,  and  from  the  razor  free, 

Siiall  fall,  a  plenteous  crop,  reserved  for  thee* 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE. 


6ft 


So  may  my  arras  with  victory  be  bless 'd, 
I  asit  no  more,  let  fate  dispose  the  rest !' 

The  champion  ceased :  there  follow'd  in  the  cloft* 
A  hollow  groan  ;  a  murmuring  wind  arose  ; 
The  rings  of  iron  that  on  the  doors  were  hung 
Sent  out  a  jarring  sound,  and  harshly  rung : 
The  bolted  gates  flew  open  at  the  blast ; 
The  storm  rush'd  in  ;  and  Arcite  stood  aghast ! 
The  flames  were  blown  aside,  yet  shone  they  bright, 
Fann'd  by  the  wind,  and  gave  a  ruffled  light. 

Then  from  the  ground  a  scent  began  to  rise, 
Sweet  smelling,  as  accepted  sacrifice  : 
ITiis  omen  pleased  ;  and  as  the  flames  aspire. 
With  odorous  incense  Arcite  heaps  the  fire  : 
Nor  wanted  hymns  to  Mars,  or  heathen  charms  ; 
At  length  tHe  nodding  statue  clash'd  his  arms, 
And  with  a  sullen  sound  and  feeble  cry, 
Half  sunk  and  half  pronounced  the  word  of  Victory  I 
For  this,  with  soul  devout,  he  thank'd  the  god  ; 
And,  of  success  secure,  return'd  to  his  abode. 

These  vows,  thus  granted,  raised  a  strife  above. 
Betwixt  the  god  of  War  and  queen  of  Love. 
She  granted  first,  had  right  of  time  to  plead ; 
But  he  had  granted  too,  nor  would  recede. 
Jove  was  for  Venus,  but  he  fear'd  his  wife. 
And  seem'd  unwiUing  to  decide  the  strife  ; 
Till  Saturn  from  his  leaden  throne  arose, 
And  found  a  way  the  difference  to  compose  : 
Though  sparing  of  his  grace,  to  mischief  bent. 
He  seldom  does  a  good  with  good  intent. 
Wayward,  but  wise  ;  by  long  experience  taught  j 
To  please  both  parties,  for  ill  ends,  he  so-ught ; 
9 


69 


FABLES. 


For  this  advantage  age  from  youth  has  won, 

As,  not  to  be  outridden,  though  outrun. 

By  fortune  he  was  now  to  Venus  trined*, 

And  with  stern  Mars  in  Capricorn  was  join'd  : 

Of  him  disposing  in  his  own  abode. 

He  sooth'd  the  goddess,  while  he  guU'd  the  godr:  - 

*  Cease,  daughter,  to  complain,  and  stint  the  strife, 

Thy  Palamon  shall  have  his  promised  wife  ; 

And  Mars,  the  lord  of  conquest,  in  the  fight, 

With  palm  and  laurel  shall  adorn  his  knight. 

Wide  is  my  course,  nor  turn  I  to  my  place 

Till  length  of  time,  and  move  with  tardy  pace. 

Man  feels  me  when  I  press  th'  ethereal  plains  ; 

]My  hand  is  heavy,  and  the  wound  remains. 

Mine  is  the  shipwreck,  in  a  watery  sign  ; 

And  in  an  earthy,  the  dark  dungeon  mine. 

Cold  shivering  agues,  melancholy  care, 

And  bitter  blasting  winds,  and  |>oison'd  air 

Are  mine  ;  and  wilful  death,  resulting  from  despair. 

The  throttling  quinsy  'tis  my  star  appoints, 

And  rheumatisms  I  send,  to  rack  the  joints. 

When  churls  rebel  against  their  native  prince, 

I  arm  thtir  hands,  and  furnish  the  pretence  ; 

And,  housing  in  the  lion's  hateful  sign, 

Bought  senates  and  deserting  troops  are  mine. 

Mine  is  the  privy  poisoning  ;  I  command 

Unkindly  seasons  and  ungrateful  land. 

By  me  kings'  palaces  are  push'd  to  ground, 

And  miners  crush' d  beneath  their  mines  anc  found ; 

•  Trine  m  an  aspe-T*;  of  plwn&ts  stppojetl  by  eistrolofen  tc 
be  cniiiientij  benign. 


PALAMON  AND  ARClTB. 


87 


*Twas  I  slew  Samson,  when  the  pillar' d  hull 
Fell  down,  and  crush'd  the  many  with  the  fall : 
My  looking  is  the  sire  of  pestilence. 
That  sweeps  at  once  the  people  and  the  prince. 
Now  weep  no  more,  but  trust  thy  grandsire's  art ; 
Mars  shall  be  pleased,  and  thou  perform  thy  part. 
*Tis  ill,  though  different  your  complexion)?  are, 
The  family  of  heaven  for  men  should  war.' 
Th'  expedient  pleased,  where  neither  lost  his  right  t 
Mars  had  the  day,  and  Venus  had  the  night. 
The  management  they  left  to  Chronos'  care  : 
Now  turn  we  to  th'  effect,  and  sing  the  war. 

In  Athens  all  was  pleas  .ire,  mirth,  and  play, 
All  proper  to  the  spring  and  sprightly  May  ; 
Which  every  soul  inspired  with  such  delight, 
*T\vas  justing  all  the  day,  and  love  at  night. 
Heaven  smiled,  and  gladdened  was  the  heart  of  man  ; 
And  Venus  had  the  world  as  when  it  first  began. 
At  length  in  sleep  their  bodies  they  compose, 
And  dream'd  the  future  fight,  and  early  rose. 

Now  scarce  the  dawning  day  began  to  sj)ring, 
As,  at  a  signal  given,  the  streets  with  clamours  ringj 
At  once  the  crowd  arose  ;  confused  and  high, 

'<     E'en  from  the  heavens  was  heard  a  shouting  cry  ; 

1     For  Mars  was  early  up,  and  roused  the  sky. 
The  gods  came  downw  ard  to  behold  the  wars, 
Sharpening  their  sights,  and  leaning  from  their 
stars. 

The  neighing  of  the  generous  horse  was  heard, 
For  battle  by  the  busy  groom  prepared  ; 
il-ustling  of  harness,  rattling  of  the  shield, 
Clattering  of  armour  furbish'd  for  the  ileldt 
r  9 


FABLES. 


Crowds  to  the  castle  xiounted  up  the  street, 
Battering-  the  pavement  with  their  coursers'  feet; 
The  greedy  sight  might  there  devour  the  gold 
Of  glittering  arms,  too  dazzling  to  behold  ; 
And  polish'd  steel,  that  cast  the  view  aside, 
And  crested  morions  with  their  plumy  pride. 
Knights,  with  a  long  retinue  of  their  squires, 
In  gaudy  liveries  march,  and  quaint  attires  : 
One  laced  the  helm,  another  held  the  lance, 
A  third  the  shining  buckler  did  advance. 
The  courser  paw'd  the  ground  with  restless  feet, 
And  snorting  foam'd,  and  champ' d  the  golden  bit. 
The  smiths  and  armourers  on  palfreys  ride, 
Files  in  their  hands,  and  hammers  at  their  side, 
And  nails  for  loosen' d  spears,  and  thongs  for  shield* 
provide. 

The  yeomen  guard  the  streets  in  seemly  bands, 
And  clowns  come  crowding  on  with  cudgels  in  their 
hands. 

The  trumpets,  next  the  gate  in  order  placed, 
Attend  the  sign  to  sound  the  martial  blast : 
The  palace-yard  is  fiU'd  with  floating  tides, 
And  the  last  comers  bear  the  former  to  the  aides. 
The  throng  is  in  the  midst :  the  common  crew 
Shut  out,  the  hall  admits  the  better  few. 
In  knots  they  stand,  or  in  a  rank  they  walk, 
Serious  in  aspect,  earnest  in  their  talk  : 
Factious,  and  favouring  this  or  th'  other  side, 
As  their  strong  fancies  and  weak  reason  guide. 
Their  wagers  back  their  wishes  :  numbers  hold 
With  the  fair  5f  eckled  king,  and  beard  of  gtld ; 
So  vigorous  are  his  eyes,  such  rays  they  cast. 
So  prominent  his  eagle's  beak  is  placed. 


PALAMO:*  AND  AUCITE. 


But  most  their  looks  on  the  bhick  monarch  bend, 

His  risin;^  muscles  and  his  brawn  commend  ; 

His  double-biting  axe  and  beamy  spear, 

Each  asking  a  gigantic  force  to  rear. 

AH  spoke  as  partial  favour  moved  the  mind, 

And,  safe  themselves,  at  others'  cost  divined. 

\Vaked  by  the  cries,  th'  Athenian  chief  arcse, 
The  knightly  forms  of  combat  to  dispose  ; 
And,  passing  through  th'  obsequious  guards,  he  sat6 
Conspicuous  on  a  throne,  sublime  in  state. 
There,  for  the  two  contending  knights  he*oent : 
Arm'd  cap-a-pee,  with  reverence  low  they  bent: 
He  smiled  on  both,  and  with  superior  look, 
Alike  their  olfer'd  adoration  took. 
The  people  press  on  every  side  to  see 
Their  awful  prince,  and  hear  his  high  decree. 
Then  signing  to  their  heralds  with  his  hand. 
They  gave  his  orders  from  their  lofty  stand. 
Silence  is  thrice  enjoin' d  ;  then  thus  aloud    [crowd  j 
The  king  at  arms  bespeaks  the  knights  and  listening 

•  Our  sovereign  lord  has  pondered  in  his  mind 
The  means  to  spare  the  blood  of  gentle  kind  ; 
And  of  his  grace  and  inborn  clemency, 
He  modifies  his  first  severe  decree  : 
The  keener  edge  of  battle  to  rebate. 
The  troops  for  honour  fighting,  not  for  hate. 
He  wills,  not  death  should  terminate  their  strife  ; 
And  wounds,  if  wounds  ensue,  be  short  of  life  j 
But  issues,  ere  the  fight,  his  dread  command. 
That  slings  afar,  and  poignards  hand  to  hand. 
Be  bacish'd  from  the  field  ;  that  none  siiall  darQ 
With  shorten'd  sword  to  stab  in  closer  war  j 


FABLES. 


But  in  fair  combat  fight,  with  manly  strength  ; 

Nor  push  with  biting  point,  but  strike  at  length. 

The  tourney  is  allow'd  but  one  career 

Of  the  tough  ash  with  the  sharp -grinded  spear  : 

But  knights  unhorsed  may  rise  from  off  the  plair^^ 

And  fight  on  foot  their  honour  to  regain. 

Nor,  if  at  mischief  taken,      the  ground 

Be  slain,  but  prisoners  to  the  pillar  bound, 

At  either  barrier  placed  ;  or,  captives  made, 

Be  freed  ;  or,  arm'd  .mew,  the  fight  invade. 

The  chief  of  either  side  bereft  of  life, 

Or  yielded  to  his  foe,  concludes  the  strife.  [young. 

Thus  dooms  the  lord :  now,  valiant  knights  and 

Fight  each  his  fill  with  swords  and  maces  long,' 

The  herald  ends  :  the  vaulted  firmament 

With  loud  acclaim.s  and  vast  applause  is  rent : 

'  Heaven  guard  a  prince  so  gracious  and  so  good, 

So  just,  and  yet  so  provident  of  blood  !' 

This  was  the  general  cry.    The  trumpet's  sound 

And  warlike  symphony  is  heard  around. 

The  marching  troops  through  ^-thens  take  their  way 

The  great  earl-marshal  orders  their  array. 

The  fair  from  high  the  passing  pomp  behold  ; 

A  rain  of  flowers  is  from  the  windows  roll'd. 

The  casements  are  with  golden  tissue  spread, 

And  horses'  hoofs,  for  earth,  on  silken  tapestry  tread* 

The  king  goes  midmost,  and  the  rivals  ride 

In  equal  rank,  and  close  his  either  side. 

Next  after  these,  there  rode  the  royal  wife. 

With  Emily,  the  cause  and  the  reward  of  strife. 

The  following  cavalcade  by  three  and  three, 

Proceed  by  titles  marshal 'd  in  degree. 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE. 


71 


Thus  through  the  southern  gate  they  take  their  way. 
And  at  the  lists  arrived,  ere  prime  of  day. 
There,  parting  from  the  king,  the  chiefs  divide. 
And  wheeling  east  and  west,  before  their  meny  ride, 
Th'  Athenian  monarch  mounts  his  throne  on  higj), 
And  after  him  the  queen  and  Emily  : 
Next  these,  the  kindred  of  the  crown  are  graced 
With  nearer  seats,  and  lords  by  ladies  placed. 
Scarce  were  they  seated,  when  with  clamours  loud 
In  rush'd  at  once  a  rude  promiscuous  crowd  : 
The  guards  and  then  each  other  overbare, 
And  in  a  moment  throng  the  spacious  theatre. 
Now  changed  the  jarring  noise  to  whispers  low, 
As  winds  forsaking  seas  more  softly  blow. 
When  at  the  western  gate,  on  which  the  car 
Is  placed  aloft  that  hears  the  goii  of  War, 
Proud  Arcite,  entering  arm'd  before  hb  tr&lni 
Stops  at  the  barrier  and  divides  the  plain  : 
Red  was  his  banner,  and  display'd  abroad 
The  bloody  colours  of  his  patron-god. 

At  that  self  moment  enters  Palamon 
The  gate  of  Venus  and  the  rising  sun  ; 
Waved  by  the  wanton  winds,  his  banner  flies, 
All  maiden  white,  and  shares  the  peop)e'3  eyes. 
From  east  to  west,  look  all  the  world  around, 
Two  troops  so  match' d  were  never  to  be  found  t 
Such  bodies  built  for  strength,  of  equal  age, 
In  stature  sized  ;  so  proud  an  equipage  : 
The  nicest  eye  could  no  distinction  make, 
Where  lay  th*  advantage,  or  what  side  to  take. 
Thus  ranged,  the  herald  for  the  last  proclaim* 
A  silence,  while  they  answer*  d  to  their  names ! 


FABLES. 


For  so  the  king  decreed,  to  shun  with  care 

The  fraud  of  musters  false,  the  common  bane  of  war. 

The  tale  was  just,  and  then  the  gates  were  closed  ; 

And  chief  to  chief,  and  troop  to  troop  opposed. 

The  heralds  last  retired,  and  loudly  cried, 

*  The  fortune  of  the  field  be  fairly  tried  !' 

At  this,  the  challenger  with  fierce  defy 
His  trumpet  sounds  ;  the  challenged  makes  reply  : 
With  clangour  rings  the  field,  resounds  the  vaulted 
sky. 

Their  vizors  closed,  their  lances  in  the  rest, 
Or  at  the  helmet  pointed,  or  the  crest ; 
They  vanish  from  the  barrier,  speed  the  race. 
And,  spurring,  see  decrease  the  middle  space. 
A  cloud  of  smoke  envelopes  either  host, 
And  all  at  once  the  combatants  are  lost. 
Darkling  they  join  adverse,  and  shock  unseen, 
Coursers  with  coursers  justling,  men  with  men; 
As  labouring  in  Eclipse,  awhile  they  stay, 
Till  the  next  blast  of  wind  restores  the  day. 
They  look  anew  :  the  beauteous  form  of  fight 
Is  changed,  and  war  appears  a  grisly  sight. 
Two  troops  in  fair  array  one  moment  show'd, 
The  next,  a  field  with  fallen  bodies  strow'd  : 
Not  half  the  number  in  their  seats  are  found  ; 
But  men  and  steeds  lie  grovelling  on  the  ground, 
The  points  of  spears  are  stuck  within  the  shield, 
The  steeds  without  their  riders  scour  the  field. 
The  knights  unhorsed  on  foot  renew  the  fight ; 
The  glittering  l?alchions  cast  a  gleaming  light : 
Hauberks  and  helms  are  hew'd  with  many  a  wound  ; 
Out  spins  the  streaming  blood,  and  dj-cs  the  ground* 


FA.LAMON  AND  ARCITS.  71 

rhe  mighty  maces  with  such  haste  descend,  [bend, 
rhey  break  the  bones,  and  make  the  solid  armour 
This  thrusts  amid  the  throng  with  furious  force  ; 
Down  goes,  at  once,  the  horseman  and  the  horse  : 
That  courser  stumbles  on  the  fallen  steed, 
And,  floundering,  throws  the  rider  o'er  his  head. 
One  rolls  along,  a  football  to  his  foes  ; 
One  with  a  broken  truncheon  deals  his  blows. 
This  halting,  this  disabled  with  his  wound, 
In  triumph  led,  is  to  the  pillar  bound, 
Where,  by  the  king's  award,  he  must  abide: 
There  goes  a  captive  led  on  th'  other  side. 
By  fits  they  cease  ;  and  leaning  on  the  lance, 
Take  breath  a  while,  and  to  new  fight  advance. 
Full  oft  the  rivals  met,  and  neither  spared 
His  utmost  force,  and  each  forgot  to  ward. 
The  head  of  this  was  to  the  saddle  bent. 
That  other  backward  to  the  crupper  sent ; 
Both  were  by  turns  unhorsed ;  the  jealous  blows 
Fall  thick  and  heavy,  when  on  foot  they  close. 
So  deep  their  falchions  bite,  that  every  stroke 
Pierced  to  the  quick ;  and  equal  wounds  they  gave  an4 
Borne  far  asunder  by  the  tides  of  men,  [k?ck« 
Like  adamant  and  steel  they  meet  again. 
So  when  a  tiger  sucks  the  bullock's  blood, 
A  famish' d  lion  issuing  from  the  wood 
Roars  lordly  fierce,  and  challenges  the  food  ; 
Each  claims  possession,  neither  will  obey. 
Bat  both  their  paws  are  fasten' d  on  the  prey : 
They  bite,  they  tear  ;  and  while  in  vain  they  strive, 
The  swains  come  arm'd  between,  av-d  both  to  dis# 
tance  drive. 


74 


PABLKS. 


At  length,  ab  fate  foredoom' d,  and  all  things  tend 
By  course  of  time  to  their  a4)pointed  end ; 
So  when  the  sun  to  west  was  far  declined, 
And  both  afresh  in  mortal  battle  join'd, 
The  strong  Emetrius  came  in  Arcite's  aid, 
And  Palamon  with  odds  was  overlaid : 
For  turning  short,  he  struck  with  all  his  might 
¥all  on  the  helmet  of  th'  unwary  knight. 
Deep  was  the  wound ;  he  stagger'd  with  the  blow, 
And  turn'd  him  to  his  unexpected  foe  ; 
Whom  with  such  force  he  struck,  he  felPd  hiaa 
down, 

And  cleft  the  circle  of  his  golden  crown. 

]iut  Arcite's  men,  who  now  prevail'd  in  fight, 

Twice  ten  at  once  surround  the  single  knight : 

O'erpower'd  at  length,  they  force  him  to  the  ground, 

Unyielded  as  he  was,  and  to  the  pillar  bound  ; 

And  king  Lycurgus,. while  he  fought  in  vain 

His  friend  to  free,  was  tumbled  on  the  plain. 

Who  now  laments  but  Palamon,  compelled 
No  more  to  try  the  fortune  of  the  field ! 
And  worse  than  death,  to  view  with  hateful  eyes 
His  rival's  conquest,  and  renounce  the  prize  ! 

The  royal  judge  on  his  tribunal  placed. 
Who  had  beheld  the  fight  from  first  to  last, 
Bade  cease  the  war:  pronouncing  from  on  high 
'  Arcite  of  Thebes  had  wort  the  beauteous  Emily.* 
The  sound  of  trumpets  to  the  voice  replied, 
And  round  the  royal  lists  the  heralds  cried, 
'  Arcite  of  Thebes  has  won  the  beauteous  bride  !* 

The  people  rend  the  skies  with  vast  applause ; 
All  own  the  chief,  when  fortune  owns  the  cause. 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE. 


Arcite  is  own*d,  e'en  by  the  gods  above, 

And  conquering  Mars  insults  the  queen  of  Love. 

So  laugh'd  he  when  the  rightful  Titan  fail*d, 

And  Jove's  usurping  arms  in  heaven  ])revail'd. 

Laugh 'd  all  the  powers  who  favour  tyranny, 

And  all  the  standing  army  of  the  sky. 

But  Venus  with  dejected  eyes  appears, 

And,  weeping,  on  the  lists  distill'd  her  tears  ; 

Her  will  refused,  which  grieves  a  woman  most. 

And  in  her  champion  foil'd,  the  cause  of  love  is  los 

Till  Saturn  said,  *  Fair  daughter,  now  be  still, 

Tlie  blustering  fool  has  satisfied  his  will : 

His  boon  is  given  ;  his  knight  has  gained  the  day. 

But  lost  the  prize ;  th'  arrears  are  yet  to  pay. 

Thy  hour  is  come,  and  mine  the  care  shall  be 

To  please  thy  knight,  and  set  thy  promise  free.* 

Now  while  the  heralds  run  the  lists  around. 
And  'Arcite,  Arcite,*  heaven  and  earth  resound: 
A  miracle  (nor  less  it  could  be  call'd) 
Their  joy  with  unexpected  sorrow  pall'd. 
The  victor-knight  had  laid  his  helm  aside, 
^firt  for  his  ease,  the  greater  part  for  pride ; 
Bare-headed,  popularly  low  he  bow'd, 
And  paid  the  salutations  of  the  crowd. 
Then  spurring  at  full  speed,  ran  endlong  on 
Where  Theseus  sate  on  his  imperial  throne ; 
Furious  he  drove,  and  upward  cast  his  eye. 
Where,  next  the  queen,  was  placed  his  EmiJr; 
Then  passing,  to  the  saddle-bow  he  bent, 
A  sweet  regard  the  gracious  virgin  lent 
(For  women,  to  the  brave  an  easy  prey, 
Still  follow  fortune,  where  she  leads  the  way) : 


FABLES. 


Just  then,  from  earth  sprung  out  a  flashing  fire, 

By  Pluto  sent,  at  Saturn's  bad  desire : 

The  startling  steed  was  seized  with  sutlden  fright, 

And,  bounding,  o'er  the  pummel  cast  the  knight : 

Forward  he  flew,  and  pitching  on  his  head, 

We  Quivvr'd  with  his  feet,  and  lay  for  dead. 

*ilack  was  his  countenance  in  a  little  space, 

yor  all  the  blood  was  gathered  in  his  face. 

Help  was  at  hand  :  they  rear'd  him  from  the  ground. 

And  from  his  cumbrous  arms  h\s  limbs  unbound ; 

Then  lanced  a  vein,  and  watch'd  returning  breath  ; 

It  came,  but  clogg'd  with  symptoms  of  his  death. 

The  saddle-bow  the  noble  parts  had  press'd, 

All  bruised  and  mortified  his  manly  breast. 

Him  still  entranced,  and  in  a  litter  laid. 

They  bore  from  field,  and  to  his  bed  convey'd. 

At  length  he  waked,  and,  with  a  feeble  cry. 

The  word  he  first  pronounced  was  '  Emily.' 

Meantime  the  king,  though  inwardly  he  mourn'dj 
In  pomp  triumphant  to  the  town  return'd, 
Attended  by  the  chiefs,  who  fought  the  field 
(Now  friendly  mix'd,  and  in  one  troop  compell'd). 
Composed  his  looks  to  counterfeited  cheer. 
And  bade  them  not  for  Arcite's  life  to  fear. 
But  that  which  gladded  all  the  Warrior- train, 
Though  most  were  sorely  wounded,  none  were  slain 
The  surgeons  soon  despoil'd  them  of  their  arms. 
And  some  with  salves  they  cure,  and  some  with 
charms ; 

Foment  the  bruises,  and  the  pains  assuage, 
And  heal  their  inward  hurts  with  soveveisii  draughts 
of  sage. 


PALAMON  AND  ARCIITE.  ^  77 

The  king  in  person  visits  all  around, 

Comforts  the  sick,  congratulates  the  sound ; 

Honours  the  princely  chiefs,  rewards  the  rest. 

And  holds  for  thrice  three  days  a  royal  feast. 

None  was  disgraced  ;  for  falling  is  no  shame  ; 

And  cowardice  alone  is  loss  of  fame. 

The  venturous  knight  is  from  his  saddle  thrown; 

But  'tis  the  fault  of  fortune,  not  his  own. 

If  crowns  and  palms  the  conquering  side  adorn, 

The  victor  under  better  stars  was  born  : 

The  brave  man  seeks  not  popular  applause, 

Nor  overpowcr'd  with  arms  deserts  his  cause; 

Unshamed,  though  foil' d,  he  does  the  best  he  caa } 

Force  is  of  brutes,  but  honour  is  of  man. 

Thus  Theseus  smiled  on  all  w^ith  equal  grace  ; 
And  each  was  set  according  to  his  place. 
With  ease  were  reconciled  the  differing  parts,  ' 
For  envy  never  dwells  in  noble  hearts. 
At  length  they  took  their  leave,  the  time  expired, 
Well  pleased ;  and  to  their  several  homes  retired. 

Meanwhile  the  health  of  Arcite  stiti  impairs  ; 
From  bad  proceeds  to  ik'orse,  and  mocks  the  leechei' 
cares : 

Swoln  is  his  breast,  his  ^"^ward  pains  increase, 
All  means  are  used,  and  all  wi;,hout  success. 
The  clotted  blood  lies  heavy  on  his  heart, 
Corrupts,  and  there  r'^mains  in  spite  of  art : 
Nor  breathing  veins  nor  cupping  will  prevail : 
All  outward  remedies  and  inward  fail : 
The  mould  of  nature's  fabric  is  destroyed, 
Her  vessels  discomposed,  he?  virtue  void : 


7« 


FABLKS. 


The  bellows  of  his  lungs  begin  to  swell : 

All  out  of  frame  is  every  secret  eel!, 

Nor  can  the  good  receive,  nor  bad  expel. 

Those  breathing  organs,  thus  within  oppress'd, 

With  venom  soon  distend  the  sinews  of  his  breast. 

Nought  profits  him  to  save  abandon'd  life, 

Nor  vomit's  upward  aid,  nor  downward  Izaitivc. 

The  midmost  region  batter' d  and  destroy*  d, 

When  nature  cannot  work,  th'  effect  of  art  is  voidj 

Tot  physic  can  but  mend  our  crazy  state, 

Patch  an  old  building,  not  a  new  create. 

Arcite  is  doom'd  to  die  in  all  his  pride, 

IMust  leave  his  youth,  and  yield  his  beauteous  brid«, 

Gain'd  hardly,  against  right,  and  unenjoy'd. 

When  'twas  declared  all  hope  of  life  was  pass'd, 

Conscience  (that  of  all  physic  works  the  last) 

Caused  him  to  send  for  Emily  in  haste, 

With  her,  at  his  desire,  came  Palamon  ; 

Then,  on  his  pillow  raised,  he  thus  begun  : 

*  No  language  can  express  the  smallest  part 
Of  what  I  feel  and  suffer  in  my  heart 
For  you,  whom  best  I  love  and  value  most ; 
But  to  your  service  I  bequeath  my  ghost  ; 
Which,  from  this  mortal  body,  when  untied, 
Unseen,  unheard,  shall  hover  at  your  side  ; 
Nor  fright  you  waking,  nor  your  sleep  offend, 
But  wait  officious,  and  your  steps  attend : 
How  I  have  loved,  excuse  my  faltering  tongu^ 
My  spirits  feeble,  and  my  pains  are  strong: 
This  1  may  say,  I  only  grieve  to  die 
Because  I  lose  my  charming  Entfly : 


PALA.MON  AND  ARCITE. 


79 


To  die,  when  Heaven  had  put  you  in  my  power, 

Fate  could  not  choose  a  more  mali-cious  hour  \ 

What  greater  curse  could  envious  fortune  give, 

Than  just  to  die  when  I  began  to  live  ! 

Vain  men,  how  vanishing  a  bliss  we  crave, 

Now  warm  in  love,  now  withering  in  the  grave ! 

Never,  O  !  never  more  to  see  the  sun  ! 

Still  dark,  in  a  damp  vault,  and  still  alone  ! 

This  fate  is  common  ;  but  I  lose  my  breath 

Near  bliss,  and  yet  not  bless' d  before  my  death. 

Farewell !  but  take  me  dying  in  your  arms, 

'Tis  all  I  can  enjoy  of  all  your  charms  : 

This  hand  I  cannot  but  in  death  resign  j 

Ah,  could  I  live !  but  while  I  live  'tis  mine. 

I  feel  my  end  approach,  and  thus  embraced, 

Am  pleased  to  die  ;  but  hear  me  speak  my  last. 

Ah  !  my  sweet  foe,  for  you,  and  you  alone, 

I  broke  my  faith  with  injured  Palamon. 

But  love  the  sense  of  right  and  wrong  confounds, 

Strong  love  and  proud  ambition  have  no  bounds. 

And  much  1  doubt,  should  Heaven  my  life  prolongs 

I  should  return  to  justify  my  wrong : 

For  while  my  former  flames  remain  within, 

Repentance  is  but  want  of  power  to  sin. 

With  mortal  hatred  I  pursued  his  life, 

Nor  he,  nor  you  were  guilty  of  the  strife  ; 

Nor  I,  but  as  I  loved :  yet  all  combined, 

Your  beauty,  and  my  impotence  of  mind, 

And  his  concurrent  flame  that  lAew  my  fire  ; 

For  still  our  kindred  souls  had  one  desire. 

He  had  a  moment's  right  in  point  of  time ; 

Had  I  seen  first,  then  his  had  been  the  crime. 


•0 


FABLESi 


Fate  made  it  mine,  and  justified  his  ri;;ht ; 
Nor  holds  this  earth  a  more  deserving  knight. 
For  virtue,  valour,  and  for  noble  blood, 
Truth,  honour,  all  that  is  comprised  in  good ; 
So  help  me  Heaven  !  in  all  the  world  is  none 
So  worthy  to  be  loved  as  Palamon. 
Re  loves  you  too  with  such  a  holy  fire 
As  will  not,  cannot  but  with  life  expire  : 
Our  vow'd  affections  both  have  often  tried, 
Nor  any  love  but  yours  could  ours  divide. 
Then,  by  my  love's  inviolable  band, 
By  my  long  suffering,  and  my  short  command, 
If  e'er  you  plight  your  vows  when  I  am  gone, 
Have  pity  on  the  faithful  Palamon!' 

This  was  his  last ;  for  Death  came  on  amain, 
And  exercised  below  his  iron  reign ; 
Then  upward  to  the  seat  of  life  he  goes  ; 
Sense  fled  before  him,  what  he  touch'd  he  froae  ; 
ret  could  he  not  his  closing  eyes  withdraw. 
Though  less  and  less  of  Emily  he  saw  : 
So  speechless  for  a  little  space  he  lay,  [aw»y« 
Then  grasp' d  the  hand  he  held,  and  sighM  his  soul 
But  whither  went  his  soul,  let  such  rolate 
Who  search  the  secrets  of  the  future  state  : 
Divines  can  say  but  what  themselves  believe  ; 
Strong  proofs  they  have,  but  not  demonstrative  ; 
For,  were  all  plain,  then  all  sides  must  agree. 
And  faith  itself  be  lost  in  certainty. 
To  live  uprightly  then  is  sure  the  best, 
To  save  ourselves,  and  not  to  damn  the  rest. 
The  soul  of  Arcite  went  were  heathens  go 
Who  better  live  than  we.  though  less  they  know* 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE, 


SI 


In  Palamon  a  manly  grief  appears; 
Silent  he  wept,  ashamed  to  show  his  tears  : 
Emilia  shriek'd  but  onr«,  and  then,  oppress'd 
With  sorrow,  sunk  upon  her  lover's  breast : 
Till  Theseus,  in  his  arms  convey 'd  with  care, 
Far  from  so  sad  a  sight,  the  swooning  fair. 
*Twere  loss  of  time  her  sorrorvv  to  relate  ; 
111  bears  the  sex  a  youthful  lover's  fate, 
When  just  approaching  to  the  nuptial  state. 
13ut  like  a  low-hung  cloud,  it  rains  so  fast 
That  all  at  once  it  falls,  and  cannot  last. 
The  face  of  things  is  changed,  and  Athens  now, 
That  laugh 'd  so  late,  becomes  the  scene  of  woe  : 
Llatrons  and  maids,  both  sexes,  every  state 
With  tears  lament  the  knight's  untimely  fate. 
Not  greater  grief  in  falling  Troy  waa  seen 
For  Hector's  death  ;  but  Hector  was  not  then. 
Old  men  with  dust  deform' d  their  hoary  hair, 
The  women  beat  their  breasts,  their  cheeks  they 
tear. 

*  Why  wouldst  thou  go  (with  one  consent  they  cry), 
When  thou  hadst  gold  enough,  and  Emily  !' 
Theseus  himself,  who  should  have  cheer'd  the  griel 
Of  others,  wanted  now  the  same  relief. 

Old  Egeus  only  could  revive  his  son, 
Who  various  changes  of  the  world  had  known. 
And  strange  vicissitudes  of  human  fate. 
Still  altering,  never  in  a  steady  state  : 
Good  after  ill,  and  after  pain  delight ; 
Alternate,  like  the  scenes  of  day  and  night, 

•  Since  every  man  who  lives  is  born  to  die, 
And  none  can  boast  sincere  felicity ; 

o 


82 


FABLES. 


With  equal  mind  what  happens  let  us  bear,  [carei 
Kor  joy  nor  grieve  too  much  for  things  beyond  oui 
Like  pilgrims,  to  th'  appointed  place  we  tend ; 
The  world's  an  inn,  and  death  the  journey's  end. 
E'en  kings  but  play  ;  and  when  their  part  is  done. 
Some  other,  worse  or  better,  mouit  the  throne.* 
With  words  like  these  the  crowd  was  satisfied, 
And  so  they  would  have  been,  had  Theseus  died. 
But  he,  their  king,  was  labouring  in  his  mind, 
A  fitting  place  for  funeral  pomps  to  find, 
Which  were  in  honour  of  the  dead  design' d. 
And  after  long  debate,  at  kst  he  found 
(As  love  itself  had  mark'd  the  spot  of  ground) 
That  grove  for  ever  green,  that  canscious  land, 
Where  he  with  Palamon  fought  hand  to  hand : 
That  where  he  fed  his  amorous  desires 
With  soft  complaints,  and  felt  his  hottest  fires, 
There  other  flames  might  waste  his  earthly  part, 
And  burn  his  limbs,  where  love  had  burn'd  hia 
heart. 

This  once  resolv'd,  the  peasants  were  enjoin'd 
Sere  wood  and  firs  and  dodder'd  oaks  to  find. 
With  sounding  axes  to  the  grove  they  go, 
Fell,  split,  and  lay  the  fuel  on  a  row, 
Vulcanian  food  :  a  bier  is  next  prepared. 
On  which  the  lifeless  body  shot?ld  be  rear'd, 
Cover' d  with  cloth  of  gold,  on  which  was  laid 
The  corpse  of  Arcite,  in  like  robes  array 'd, 
White  gloves  were  on  his  hands,  and  on  his  head 
A  wreath  of  laurel,  mix'd  with  myrtle,  spread  ; 
A  sword  keen-edged  within  his  right  he  held, 
I'be  warlike  emblem  of  the  conquer' d  field ; 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE. 


Bare  was  his  manly  visage  on  the  bier  ; 
Menaced  his  countenance,  even  in  death  severe. 
Then  to  the  palace-hall  they  bore  the  knight, 
To  lie  in  solemn  state,  a  public  sight. 
Groans,  cr'es,  and  bowlings  fill  the  crowded  place, 
And  unaffected  sorrow  sat  on  every  face. 
Sad  Palamon  al>ove  the  rest  appears 
In  sable  garments,  devv'd  with  gushing  tears, 
His  auburn  locks  on  either  shoulder  flow'd, 
Which  to  the  funeral  erf  his  friend  he  vow'd  : 
But  Emily,  as  chief,  was  next  his  side, 
A  virgin-widow,  and  a  mourning  bride. 
And  that  the  princely  obsequies  might  be 
Perform' d  according  to  his  high  degree, 
The  steed  that  bore  him  living  to  the  figlsft 
Was  trapp'd  with  polish'd  steel  all  shining  bright. 
And  cover'd  with  th'  achievements  of  the  knight. 
The  riders  rode  abreast,  and  one  his  shield, 
His  lance  of  cornel- wood  another  held  : 
The  third  his  bow  ;  and,  glorious  to  behold, 
The  costly  q»aiver,  all  of  burnish 'd  gold. 
The  noblest  of  the  Grecians  next  appear. 
And,  weeping,  on  their  shoulders  bore  the  bier  ; 
With  sober  pace  they  march'd,  and  often  staid, 
And  through  the  master-street  the  corpse  convey'd. 
The  houses  to  their  tops  with  black  were  spread, 
And  e'en  the  pavements  were  with  mourning  hid. 
The  right  side  of  the  pall  old  Egeus  kept, 
And  on  the  left  the  royal  Theseus  wept : 
Each  bore  a  golden  bowl  of  work  divine, 
With  honey  rill'd,  and  milk,  and  mix'd  with  ruddy 
wine. 

G  2 


114  FABLEfl. 

Then  Palamon,  the  kinsman  of  the  slain, 

And  after  him  appeat'd  th*  illustrious  train. 

To  grace  the  pomp,  came  Emily  the  bright, 

With  oover'd  fire,  the  funeral  pile  to  light. 

With  high  devotion  was  the  service  made, 

And  all  the  rites  ofpagan  honour  paid  : 

So  lofty  was  the  pile,  a  Parthian  hew, 

With  vigour  drawn,  must  send  the  shaft  below. 

The  bottom  was  full  twenty  fathom  brosKl, 

With  crackling  strav;  beneath  in  due  proportion 

The  fabric  seem'd  a  wood  of  rising  green,  [strow'd. 

With  sulphur  and  bitumen  cast  between 

To  feed  the  flames  :  the  trees  were  unctuous  fir, 

And  mountain  ash,  the  mother  of  the  spear  ; 

The  mourner  yew,  and  builder  oak  were  there  ; 

The  beech,  the  swimming  alder,  and  the  plane, 

Hard  box,  and  linden  of  a  softer  grain,  [ordain. 

And  laurels,  which  the  gods  for  conquering  chiefs 

How  they  were  rank'd,  shall  rest  untold  by  me. 

With  nameless  nymphs  that  lived  in  every  tree ; 

Nor  how  the  Dryads  and  the  woodland  train. 

Disherited,  ran  howling  o'er  the  plain  : 

Nor  how  the  birds  to  foreign  seats  repair' d. 

Or  beasts,  that  bolted  out,  and  saw  the  forest  bar-ed  : 

Nor  how  the  ground,  now  clear'd,  with  gastly  fright 

Beheld  the  sudden  sun,  a  stranger  to  the  light. 

The  straw,  as  first  I  said,  was  laid  below ; 
Of  chips  and  serewood  was  the  second  row ; 
The  third  of  greens,  and  timber  newly  fell'd  ; 
The  fourth  high  stage  the  fragrant  odours  held, 
And  pearls,  and  precious  stones,  and  rich  array; 
In  midst  of  which,  embalm'd,  the  body  lay. 


PALAMON  AND  ARClTE. 


88 


The  service  sung,  the  maid  with  mourning  eyes 
The  stubble  fired  ;  the  smouldering  flames  arise : 
This  o^ce  done,  she  sunk  upon  the  ground  ; 
But  what  she  spoke,  recover'd  from  her  swoon, 
I  want  the  wit  in  moving  words  to  dress  ; 
But  by  themselves  the  tender  sex  may  guesB, 
"While  the  devouring  fire  was  burning  fast, 
Rich  jewels  in  the  flame  the  wealthy  cast ; 
And  some  their  shields,  and  some  their  lances  tlureir, 
And  gave  their  warr»lor's  ghost  a  warrior's  due. 
Full  bowls  of  wine,  of  honey,  milk,  and  blood, 
Were  poM'd  upon  the  pile  of  burning  wood. 
And  hissing  flames  receive,  and  hungry  lick  the  food* 
Then  thrice  the  mounted  squadrons  ride  around 
The  fire,  and  Arcite's  name  they  thrice  resound  : 
*  Hail !  and  farewell  !*  they  shouted  thrice  amain, 
Thrice  facing  to  the  left,  and  thrice  they  turn'd 
again  ; 

Still  as  they  turn'd,  they  beat  their  clattering  shields  ; 
The  women  mix  tiieir  cries  ;  and  clamour  fills  the 
fields. 

The^  warlike  wakes  continued  all  the  night, 
And 'funeral  games  were  play'd  at  new  returning 
light : 

Who,  raked,  wrestled  best,  besmear'd  with  oil. 
Or  who  with  gauntlets  gave  or  took  the  foil, 
I  will  not  tell  you,  nor  would  you  attend  ; 
But  briefly  haste  to  my  long  story's  end. 
I  pass  the  rest ;  the  year  was  fully  mourn 'd, 
And  Palamon  long  since  to  Thebes  return'd  | 
When,  by  the  Grecians'  general  consent, 
At  Athens  Theseus  held  his  pariiameni  t 


FABLES. 


Among  the  laws  that  pass'd,  it  was  decreed, 
That  conquer' d  Thebes  from  bondage  should  be 
freed : 

Reserving  homage  to  th'  Athenian  throne, 
To  which  the  sovereign  summon' d  Palamon. 
Unknowing  of  the  cause,  he  took  his  way, 
Mournful  in  mind,  and  still  in  black  array.  [high, 
The  monarch  mounts  the  throne,  and,  placed  on 
Commands  into  the  court  the  beauteous  Emily  : 
So  call'd,  she  came  ;  the  senate  rose,  and  paid 
Becoming  reverence  to  the  royal  maid. 
And  first  soft  whispers  through  th'  assembly  went; 
With  silent  wonder  then  they  watch' d  th'  event : 
All  hush'd,  the  king  arose  with  awful  grace. 
Deep  thought  was  in  his  breast,  and  counsel  in  his 
face. 

At  tength  he  sigh'd  ;  and,  having  first  prepared 
Th'  attentive  audience,  thus  his  will  declared: 

*  The  cause  and  spring  of  motion,  from  above, 
Hung  down  on  earth  the  golden  chain  of  love  : 
Great  was  th'  effect,  and  high  was  his  intent, 
When  peace  among  the  jarring  seeds  he  sent ; 
Fire,  flood,  and  earth,  and  air,  by  this  were  bound. 
And  love,  the  common  link,  the  new  creation  crown'd. 
The  chain  still  holds  ;  for  though  the  forms  decay, 
Eternal  matter  never  wears  away  : 
The  same  first  Mover  certain  bounds  has  placed, 
How  long  those  perishable  forms  shall  last ; 
Nor  can  they  last  beyond  the  time  assign'd 
By  that  all-seeing  and  all-making  Mind  : 
Shorten  their  hours  they  may,  for  will  is  free, 
But  never  pass  th'  appointed  destiny. 


PALAMON  AND  AT^CITB^ 


87 


So  men  oppress'd,  wlien  weary  of  their  hreath, 

Throw  off  the  burden,  and  suborne  their  death. 

Then  since  those  forms  begin  and  have  their  end. 

On  some  unalter'd  cause  they  sure  depend : 

Parts  of  the  whole  are  we  ;  but  God  the  whole, 

Who  gives  us  life  and  animating  soul. 

For  nature  cannot  from  a  part  derive 

That  being  which  the  whole  can  only  give  : 

He  perfect,  stable :  but  imperfect  we, 

Subject  to  change,  and  different  in  degree  : 

Plants,  be?sts,  and  man,  and,  as  our  organs  dre, 

We  more  or  less  of  his  perfection  share. 

But  by  a  long  descent,  th*  ethereal  fire 

Corrupts  ;  and  forms,  the  mortal  part,  expire : 

As  he  withdraws  his  vii-tue,  so  they  pass. 

And  the  same  ixatter  makes  another  mass. 

This  law  th'  omniscient  Power  was  pleased  to  give, 

That  every  kind  should  by  succession  live : 

That  individuals  die,  his  will  ordains  ; 

The  propagated  species  still  remains. 

The  monarch  oak,  the  patriarch  of  the  trees, 

Shoots  rising  up,  and  spreads  by  slow  degrees ; 

Three  centuries  he  grows,  and  three  he  stays  » 

Supreme  in  state,  and  in  three  more  decays ; 

So  wears  the  paving  pebble  in  the  street. 

And  towns  and  towers  their  fatal  peniods  meet ; 

So  rivers,  rapid  once,  now  naked  lie,  C^^ry* 

Forsaken  of  their  springs,  and  leave  their  chan^jcli 

So  man,  at  first  a  drop,  dilates  with  heat, 

Thc4i  form'd,  the  little  heart  begins  to  beat; 

Scciet  he  feeds,  unknowing,  in  the  cell ; 

At  length,  for  hatching  ripe,  he  breaks  ""V 


8S 


FABLES. 


And  struggles  iiifo  breath,  and  cries  for  aid: 
Then,  helpless,  io  his  mother's  lap  is  laid  ; 
He  creeps,  he  walks,  and,  issuing  into  man, 
Grudges  their  life,  from  whence  his  o^n  began* 
Reckless  of  laws,  affects  to  rule  alone, 
Anxious  to  reign,  and  restless  on  the  throne  : 
First  vegetive,  then  feels,  and  reasons  last ; 
Rich  of  three  so«''s,  and  lives  all  three  to  waste. 
Some  thus  ;  buf  housands  more  in  flower  of  aget 
For  few  arrive  to  run  the  latter  st?.ge. 
Sunk  in  the  first,  in  battle  some  are  slain, 
And  others  whelm' d  beneath  the  stormy  main. 
What  makes  all  this,  but  Jupiter  ths  king, 
At  whose  command  we  perish  and  we  spring? 
Then  'tis  our  best,  since  thus  ordain'd  to  die, 
To  make  a  virtue  of  necessity. 
Take  what  he  gives,  since  to  rebel  is  vain : 
The  bad  grows  better,  which  we  well  sustain ; 
And  could  wc  choose  the  time,  and  choose  aright, 
*Tis  best  to  die,  our  honour  at  the  height, 
AVhen  we  have  done  our  ancestors  no  shame, 
But  served  our  friends,  and  well  secured  our  fame. 
Then  should  we  wish  our  happy  life  to  close, 
And  leave  no  more  for  fortune  to  dispose : 
So  should  we  make  our  death  a  glad  relief 
From  future  shame,  from  sickness,  and  from  grief  t 
Enjoying,  M'hile  we  live,  the  present  hour, 
And  dying  in  our  excellence  and  flower. 
Then  round  our  death-bed  every  friend  should  run, 
And  joy  us  of  our  conquest,  early  won : 
While  the  malicious  world  with  envious  tears 
Should  grudge  our  happy  end,  and  wish  it  their«« 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE. 


Since  then  our  Arcite  is  with  honour  dead, 
Why  should  we  mourn,  that  he  so  soon  is  freed. 
Or  call  untimely  what  the  gods  decreed  ? 
With  grief  as  just  a  friend  may  be  deplored, 
From  a  foul  prison  to  free  air  restored. 
Ought  he  to  thank  his  kinsman,  or  his  wife. 
Could  tears  recall  him  into  wretched  life  ! 
Their  sorrow  hurts  themselves  ;  on  him  is  lost : 
And  worse  than  both,  offends  his  happy  ghost. 
What  then  remains,  but  after  past  annoy. 
To  take  the  good  vicissitude  of  joy  ? 
To  thank  the  gracious  gods  for  what  they  give ; 
Possess  our  souls,  and  while  we  live,  to  live  ? 
Ordain  we  then  two  sorrows  to  combine. 
And  in  one  point  th'  extremes  of  grief  to  join. 
That,  thence  resulting,  joy  may  be  Fenew'd, 
As  jarring  notes  in  harmony  conclude. 
Then  I  propose,  that  Palamon  should  be 
In  marriage  join*  d  with  beauteous  Emily; 
For  which  already  I  have  gain'd  th'  assent 
Of  my  free  people  in  full  parliament. 
Long  love  to  her  has  borne  the  faithful  knight, 
And  well  deserved,  had  fortune  done  him  right  i 
'Tis  time  to  mend  her  fault ;  since  Emily 
By  Arcite' s  death  from  former  vows  is  free. 
If  you,  fair  sister,  ratify  th'  accord, 
And  take  him  for  your  husband  and  your  lord| 
*Tis  no  dishonour  to  confer  your  grace 
On  one  descended  from  a  royal  race  : 
And  were  he  less,  yet  years  of  service  past, 
From  grateful  souls  exact  reward  at  last : 


90 


JTABLES. 


Pity  is  heaven's  and  yours  :  nor  can  she  find 
A  throne  so  soft  as  in  a  woman's  mind.' 

He  said  ;  she  blush'd  ;  and,  as  o'erawed  by  m'lgnt, 
Scern'd  to  give  Theseus  what  she  gave  the  knight. 
Then  turning  to  the  Theban,  thus  he  said  : 
*  Small  arguments  are  needful  to  persuade 
Your  temper  to  comply  with  my  command  ;' 
And,  speaking  thus,  he  gave  Emilia's  hand. 
Smiled  Venus,  to  behold  her  own  true  knight 
Obtain  the  conquest,  though  he  lost  the  fight, 
And  bless' d  with  nuptial  bliss  the  sweet  laborious 
night. 

Eros  and  Anteros,  on  either  side. 

One  fired  the  bridegroom,  and  one  warm'd  the  bride  ; 

And  long-attending  Hymen  from  above, 

Shower'd  on  the  bed  the  whole  Idalian  grove. 

All  of  a  tenor  was  their  after  life. 

No  day  discolour' d  with  domestic  strife  ; 

No  jealousy,  but  mutual  truth  believed. 

Secure  repose,  and  kindness  undeceived. 

Thus  Heaven,  beyond  the  compass  of  his  thought. 

Sent  hipa  the  blessing  he  so  dearly  bought. 

So  may  the  queen  of  Love  long  duty  blest, 
Aud  all  true  k)vers  find  the  same  succeia  1 


SIGISMONDA  AND  GUISCARDO. 


While  Normi»,n  Tancred  in  Salerno  reign' d. 
The  title  of  a  gracious  prince  he  gain'd  ; 
Till  turn'd  a  tyrant  in  his  latter  days, 
He  lost  the  lustre  of  his  former  praise  ; 
And  from  the  bright  meridian  where  he  stood, 
Descending,  dipp'd  his  hands  in  lovers'  blood. 

This  prince,  of  fortune's  favour  long  possess'd, 
Yet  was  with  one  fair  daughter  only  bless' d  ; 
And  bless' d  he  might  have  been  with  her  alone  : 
But  oh  !  how  much  more  happy  had  he  none  I 
She  was  his  care,  his  hope,  and  his  delight, 
Most  in  hia  taought,  and  ever  in  his  sight  : 
Next,  nay,  beyond  his  life  he  held  her  dear  ; 
She  lived  by  him,  and  now  he  lived  in  her. 
For  this,  when  ripe  for  marriage,  he  delay'd 
Her  nuptial  bands,  and  kept  her  long  a  maid  ; 
As  envying  any  else  should  share  a  part 
Of  what  was  his,  and  claiming  all  her  heart. 
At  length,  as  public  decency  required, 
And  all  his  vassals  eagerly  desired, 
With  mind  averse,  he  rather  underwent 
His  people's  will  than  gave  his  own  consent  t 


92 


FABL8». 


So  was  she  torn,  as  from  a  lover's  side, 
And  made,  almost  in  his  despite,  a  bride. 

Short  were  her  marriage  joys  ;  for  in  the  prime 
Of  youth,  her  lord  expired  before  his  time  : 
And  to  her  father's  court,  in  little  space 
Restored  anew,  she  held  a  higher  place  ; 
More  loved  and  mere  exalted  into  grace. 
This  princess,  fresh  ax.d  young  and  f^T  and  wise. 
The  worshipp'd  idol  of  her  father's  eyes. 
Did  all  her  sex  in  every  grace  exceed, 
And  had  more  wit  beside  than  woman  need,  [mind 

Youth,  health,  and  ease,  and  most  an  amorous 
To  second  nuptials  had  her  thoughts  inclined  ; 
And  former  joys  had  left  a  secret  sting  behind. 
But,  prodigal  in  every  other  grant. 
Her  sire  left  unsupplied  her  only  want; 
And  she,  betwixt  her  modesty  and  pride, 
Her  wishes,  which  she  could  not  help,  would  hide. 

Resolved  at  last  to  lose  no  longer  time, 
And  yet  to  please  herself  without  a  crime, 
She  cast  her  eyes  around  the  court,  to  find 
A  worthy  subject  suiting  to  her  mind  ; 
To  him  in  holy  nuptials  to  be  tied, 
A  seeming  widow,  and  a  secret  bride. 
Among  the  train  of  courtiers,  one  she  found 
With  all  the  gifts  of  beauteous  nature  crown' d ; 
Of  gentle  blood,  but  one  whose  niggard  fate 
Had  set  him  far  below  her  high  estate  ; 
Guiscard  his  name  was  call'd,  of  blooming  age. 
Now  squire  to  Tancred,  and  before,  his  page  : 
To  him,  the  choice  of  all  the  shining  cro'tfd. 
Her  heart  the  noble  Sigismonda  vow'd. 


SIGISMONDA  AND  GUISCARDO. 


Yet  kitherto  she  kept  her  love  conceal'd, 

And  with  those  graces  every  day  beheld 

The  graceful  youth  ;  and  every  day  increased 

The  raging  fire  that  burn'd  within  her  breast ; 

Some  secret  charm  did  all  his  acts  attend, 

And  what  his  fortune  wanted,  hers  could  mend  : 

Till  as  the  fire  will  force  its  outward  way, 

Or,  in  the  prison  pent,  consume  the  prey. 

So  long  her  earnest  eyes  on  him  were  set, 

At  length  their  twisted  rays  together  met ; 

And  he,  surprised,  with  humbie  joy  survey'd 

One  sweet  regard,  shot  by  the  royal  maid  : 

Not  well  assured,  while  doubtful  hopes  he  nursed, 

A  second  glance  came  gliding  like  the  first ; 

And  he,  who  saw  the  sharpness  of  the  dart. 

Without  defence  received  it  in  his  heart. 

In  public  though  their  passion  wanted  speech, 

Yet  mutual  looks  interpreted  for  each  : 

Time,  ways,  and  means  of  meeting  were  denied  ; 

But  all  those  wants  ingenious  love  supplied. 

Th'  inventive  god,  who  never  fails  his  part. 

Inspires  the  wit,  when  once  he  warms  the  heart. 

When  Guiscard  next  was  in  the  circle  seeu. 
Where  Sigismonda  held  the  place  of  queen, 
A  hollow  cane  within  her  hand  she  In-ought, 
But  in  the  concave  had  enclosed  a  note  : 
With  this  she  seem'd  to  play,  and,  as  in  sport, 
Toss'd  to  her  love,  in  presence  of  the  court : 
*  Take  it,'  she  said,  '  and  when  your  needs  require, 
This  little  brand  will  serve  to  light  your  fire.' 
He  took  it  with  a  bow,  and  soon  divined 
The  seeming  toy  was  not  for  nought  design'd ; 


94 


FAB1.SS. 


But  when  retired,  so  long  with  curious  eyes 
He  view'd  the  present,  that  he  found  the  prize. 
Much  was  in  little  writ ;  and  all  convey'd 
With  cautious  care,  for  fear  to  be  betray' d 
By  some  false  confidant  or  favourite  maid. 
The  time,  the  place,  the  m.anner  how  to  meet. 
Were  all  in  punctual  order  plainly  writ : 
But  since  a  trust  must  be,  she  thought  it  best 
To  put  it  out  of  laymen's  power  at  least, 
And  for  their  solemn  vows  prepared  a  priest. 

Guisrard  (her  secret  purpose  understood) 
With  joy  prepared  to  meet  the  coming  good  ; 
Nor  pains  nor  danger  was  resolved  to  spare, 
But  use  the  means  appointed  by  the  fair. 

Next  the  proud  palace  of  Salerno  stood 
A  mount  of  rough  ascent,  and  thick  with  wood : 
Through  this  a  cave  was  dug  with  vast  expense  ; 
The  work  it  seem'd  of  some  suspicious  prince, 
Who,  when  abusing  power  with  lawless  might, 
From  public  justice  would  secure  his  flight. 
The  passage,  made  by  many  a  winding  way, 
Reach' d  e'en  the  room  in  which  the  tyrant  lay. 
Fit  for  his  purpose,  on  a  lov/er  floor 
He  lodged,  whose  issue  was  an  iron  door, 
From  whence,  by  stairs  descending  to  the  ground, 
In  the  blind  grot  a  safe  retreat  he  found. 
Its  outlet  ended  in  a  brake  o'ergrown 
With  brambles,  choked  by  time,  and  now  unknowtw 
A  rift  there  was,  which  from  the  mountain's  height 
Convey'd  a  glimmering  and  malignant  light, 
A  breathing  place  to  draw  the  damps  away, 
A  twilight  of  an  intercepted  day. 


SIGISMONDA  AXD  GUISCARDO. 


The  tyrant's  den,  vhose  use  though  lost  to  fame, 
Was  now  th'  apartment  of  the  royal  dame  : 
The  cavern,  only  to  her  father  known, 
By  hini  was  to  his  darling  daughter  shown. 

Neglected  long,  she  let  the  secret  rest. 
Till  love  recall' d  it  to  her  labouring  breast, 
And  hinted  as  the  way  by  heaven  design'd 
The  teacher,  by  the  means  he^caught,  to  blind. 
What  will  not  women  do,  whcM  need  inspires 
Their  wit,  or  love  their  inclination  fires  ! 
Though  jealousy  of  state  th'  invention  found, 
Yet  love  refined  upon  the  former  ground ; 
That  way  the  tyrant  had  reserved  to  fly 
Pursuing  hate,  now  served  to  bring  two  lovers  nigh. 

The  dame,  who  long  in  vain  had  kept  the  key, 
Bold  by  desire,  explored  the  secret  way  ; 
Now  tried  the  stairs,  and  wading  through  the  night, 
Search'd  all  the  deep  recess,  and  issued  into  light. 
All  this  her  letter  had  so  well  explain' d, 
Th'  instructed  youth  might  compass  what  remain' d ; 
The  cavern-mouth  alone  was  hard  to  find, 
Because  the  path,  disused,  was  out  of  mind  ; 
But  in  what  quarter  of  the  copse  it  lay 
His  eye  by  certain  level  could  survey  : 
Yet  (for  the  wood  perplex'd  with  thorns  he  knew) 
A  frock  of  leather  o'er  his  limbs  he  drew  ; 
And,  thus  provided,  search'd  the  brake  around, 
Till  the  choked  entry  of  the  cave  he  found. 

Thus,  all  prepared,  the  promised  hour  arrived, 
So  long  expected,  and  so  well  contrived  ; 
With  Love  to  friend,  th'  imjiaticnt  lover  went. 
Fenced  from  the  thorns,  and  trod  the  deep  descent* 


The  conscious  priest,  who  was  suborn' d  before. 

Stood  ready  posted  at  the  postern  door  ; 

The  maids  in  distant  rooms  were  sent  to  rest, 

And  nothing  wanted  but  th'  invited  guest. 

He  came,  and  knocking  thrice,  without  delay, 

7'he  longing  lady  heard,  and  turn'd  the  key  ; 

At  once  invaded  him  with  all  her  charms. 

And  the  first  step  he  made  was  in  her  arms  : 

The  leathern  outside,  boisterous  as  it  was. 

Gave  way,  and  bent  beneath  her  strict  embrace  : 

On  either  side  the  kisses  flew  so  thick 

That  neither  he  nor  she  had  breath  to  speak. 

The  holy  man,  amazed  at  what  he  saw, 

Made  haste  to  sanctify  the  bliss  by  law  : 

And  mutter'd  fast  the  matrimony  o'er, 

For  fear  committed  sin  should  get  before. 

His  work  perform' d,  he  left  the  pair  alone, 

Because  he  knew  he  could  not  go  too  soon  ; 

His  presence  odious,  when  his  task  was  done. 

What  thoughts  he  had  beseems  not  me  to  say  ; 

Though  some  surmise  he  went  to  fast  and  pray, 

And  needed  both,  to  drive  the  tempting  thoughts  awaji 

The  foe  once  gone,  th^y  took  their  full  delight ; 
'Twas  restless  rage  and  tempest  all  the  night ; 
For  greedy  love  each  moment  would  employ. 
And  grudged  the  shortest  pauses  of  their  joy. 

Thus  were  their  loves  auspiciously  begun, 
And  thus  with  secret  care  were  carried  on  : 
The  stealth  itself  did  appetite  restore. 
And  look'd  so  like  sin,  it  pleased  the  more. 

The  cave  was  now  become  a  common  way, 
The  wicket,  often  open'd,  knew  the  key  ; 


SIGISMONDA  Ar?D  GUISCABDO. 


97 


Love  rioted  secure,  and  long  enjoy'd, 
Was  ever  eager,  and  was  never  cloy'd. 

But  as  extremes  are  short,  of  ill  and  good, 
And  tides,  at  highest  mark,  regorge  the  flood  ; 
So  fate,  that  could  no  more  improve  their  joy, 
Took  a  malicious  pleasure  to  destroy. 

Tancred,  who  fondly  loved,  and  whose  delight 
Was  placed  in  his  fair  daughter's  daily  sight ; 
Of  custom,  when  his  state  affairs  were  doi.e, 
Would  pass  his  pleasing  hours  with  her  alon«  : 
And,  as  a  father's  privilege  allow'd, 
Without  attendance  of  th'  officious  crowd. 

It  happen'd  once,  that  when  in  heat  of  day 
He  tried  to  sleep,  as  was  his  usual  way. 
The  balmy  slumber  fled  his  wakeful  eyes, 
And  forced  him,  in  his  own  despite,  to  rise : 
Of  sleep  forsaken,  to  relieve  his  care. 
He  sought  the  conversation  of  the  fair  : 
But  with  her  train  of  damsels  she  was  gone. 
In  shady  walks  the  scorching  heat  to  shun. 
He  would  not  violate  that  sweet  recess, 
And  found  besides  a  welcome  heaviness 
That  seized  his  eyes  ;  and  slumber,  which  forgot. 
When  caird  before  to  come,  now  came  unsoughta 
From  light  retired,  behind  his  daughter's  bed, 
He  for  approaching  sleep,  composed  his  head  ; 
A  chair  was  ready,  for  that  use  design' d, 
So  quilted  that  he  lay  at  ease  reclined  ; 
The  curtains  closely  drawn,  the  light  to  screen. 
As  if  he  had  contrived  to  lie  unseen  : 
Thus  cover' d  with  an  artificial  night, 
Sleep  did  his  office  soon,  and  seal'd  his  sight. 


9S 


FABLES. 


With  Heaven  averse,  in  this  ill  omen'd  hour 
Wis  Guiscard  summon'd  to  the  secret  bowear, 
And  the  fair  nymph,  with  expectation  fired, 
From  her  attending  damsels  was  retired  : 
For,  true  to  love,  she  measured  time  so  right 
As  not  to  miss  one  moment  of  delight. 
The  garden,  seated  on  the  level  floor, 
She  left  behind,  and  locking  every  door, 
Thought  all  secure  ;  but  little  did  she  know, 
Blind  to  her  fate,  she  had  enclosed  her  foe. 
Attending  Guiscard,  in  his  leathern  frock. 
Stood  ready,  with  his  thrice-repeated  knock  : 
Thrice  with  a  doleful  sound  the  jarring  grate 
Rung  deaf,  and  hollow,  and  presaged  their  fate. 
The  door  unlock' d,  to  known  delight  they  haste, 
And  panting,  in  each  other's  arms  embraced. 
Rush  to  the  conscious  bed,  a  mutual  freight. 
And  heedless  press  it  with  their  wonted  weight. 

The  sudden  bound  awaked  the  sleeping  sire. 
And  show'd  a  sight  no  parent  can  desire  : 
His  opening  eyes  at  once  with  odious  view 
The  love  discover' d,  and  the  lover  knew  : 
He  would  have  cried  ;  but  hoping  that  he  dreamt, 
Amazement  tied  his  tongue,  and  stopp'd  th'  at- 
Th'  ensuing  moment  all  the  truth  declared  ;  [tempt. 
But  now  he  stood  collected  and  prepared, 
For  malice  and  revenge  had  put  him  on  his  guard. 

So,  like  a  lion  that  unheeded  lay, 
Dissembling  sleep,  and  watchful  to  betray. 
With  inward  rage  he  meditates  his  prey. 
The  thoughtless  pair,  indulging  their  desires, 
Alternate  kindled,  and  then  quench' d  their  fire«  { 


SIGISMONDA  AND  GUISCARDO. 

Nor  thinking  in  the  shades  of  death  they  play'd, 
Fui!  of  themselves,  themselves  alone  survey'd, 
And,  too  secure,  were  by  themselves  betray'd. 
Long  time  dissolved  in  pleasure  thus  they  lay, 
Till  nature  could  no  more  suflSce  their  play  ; 
Then  rose  the  youth,  and  through  the  cave  again 
Return'd  ;  the  princess  mingled  with  her  train. 

Resolved  his  unripe  vengeance  to  defer, 
The  royal  spy,  when  now  the  coast  was  clear, 
Sought  not  the  garden,  but  retired  unseen, 
To  brood  in  secret  on  his  gather'd  spleen, 
And  methodise  revenge  :  to  death  he  grieved  ; 
And,  but  he  saw  the  crime,  had  scarce  believed. 
Th'  appointment  for  th'  ensuing  night  he  heard  ; 
And  therefore  in  the  cavern  had  prepared 
Two  brawny  yeomen  of  h.s  trusty  guard. 

Scarce  had  unwary  Guiscard  set  his  foot 
Within  the  foremost  entry  of  the  grot, 
When  these  in  secret  ambush  ready  lay, 
And  rushing  on  the  sudden,  seized  the  prey  : 
Encumber'd  with  his  frock,  without  defence, 
An  easy  prize,  they  led  the  prisoner  thence, 
And,  as  commanded,  brought  before  the  prince. 
The  gloomy  sire,  too  sensible  of  wron.g 
To  vent  his  rage  in  words,  restrain' d  his  tongue  ; 
And  only  said,  '  Thus  servants  are  preferr'd  : 
And  trusted,  thus  their  sovereigns  they  reward. 
Had  I  not  seen,  had  not  these  eyes  received 
Too  clear  a  proof,  I  could  not  have  believed.' 

He  paused,  and  choked  the  rest.    The  youth,  who 
saw 

His  forfeit  life  abandon' d  to  the  law, 

H  2 


100 


FABLE«. 


The  judge,  th*  accuser,  and  th'  offence  to  him 
Who  had  both  power  ami  will  t'  avenge  the  crime. 
No  vain  defence  prepared,  but  thus  replied  : 
*  The  faults  of  love  by  love  are  justified  : 
With  unresisted  mi^ht  the  monarch  reigns, 
He  levels  mountains,  and  he  raises  plains  ; 
And,  not  regarding  difference  of  degree, 
Abased  your  daughter,  and  exalted  me.* 

This  bold  return  with  seeming  patience  heard, 
The  prisoner  was  remitted  to  the  guard. 
The  sullen  tyrant  slept  not  all  the  night, 
But  lonely  walking  by  a  winking  light, 
Sobb'd,  wept,  and  groan'd,  and  beat  his  wither'd 
breast, 

But  would  not  violate  his  daughter''s  rest ; 
Wito  long  expecting  lay,  for  bliss  prepared. 
Listening  for  noise,  and  grieved  that  none  she  heard; 
Oft  rose,  and  oft  in  vain  employ' d  the  key, 
And  oft  accused  her  lover  of  delay  ; 
And  pass'd  the  tedious  hours  in  anxious  thougkts 
away. 

The  morrow  came  ;  and  at  his  usual  hour 
Old  T{»jicred  visited  his  daughter's  bower  ; 
Her  cheek  (for  such  his  custom  was)  he  kiss'd. 
Then  bles^s'd  her  kneeling,  and  her  maids  dismiss'dt 
The  royal  dignity  thus  far  maintain'd, 
Now  left  in  private,  he  no  longer  fei^n'd  ; 
But  all  at  once  his  grief  and  rage  appear' d, 
And  floods  of  tears  ran  trickling  down  his  beard, 

*  O  Sigismonda  !'  he  began  to  say : 
Thrice  he  began,  and  thrice  was  forced  to  stay, 
Ti'l  words,  with  often  trying,  found  their  way: 


SIGISMOXOA  AND  CUISCARDO.  101 

*  I  thought,  O  Sigismonda,  (but  how  blind 

Are  parents'  eyes,  their  children's  faults  to  find  !) 

Thy  virtue,  birtli,  and  breeding  were  above 

A  mean  desire,  and  vulgar  sense  of  love  : 

Nor  less  than  sight  and  hearing  could  convince 

So  fond  a  father,  and  so  just  a  prince, 

Of  such  an  unforeseen  and  unbelieved  offence. 

Then  what  indignant  sorrow  must  I  have, 

To  see  thee  lie  subjected  to  my  slave  ! 

A  man  so  smelling  of  the  people's  lee. 

The  court  received  him  first  for  charity  ; 

And  since,  with  no  degree  of  honour  graced. 

But  only  suffer'd,  wh^re  he  first  was  placed  : 

A  grovelling  insect  still ;  and  so  design'd 

By  natuie'*s  hand,  nor  born  of  noble  kind  : 

A  thing,  by  neither  man  nor  woman  prized, 

And  scarcely  known  enough  to  be  despised. 

To  what  has  Heaven  reserved  my  age  !  Ay  !  why 

Should  man,  when  nature  calls,  not  choose  to  di<y 

Rather  than  stretch  the  span  of  life,  to  find 

Such  ills  as  fate  has  wisely  cast  behind. 

For  those  to  feel,  whom  fond  desire  to  live 

INIakes  covetous  of  more  than  life  can  gi\'e  ! 

Each  has  his  share  of  good  ;  and  when  'tis  gone. 

The  guest,  though  hungry,  cannot  rise  too  soon. 

But  I,  expecting  more,  in  my  own  wrong, 

Protracting  life,  have  lived  a  da^  too  Icflig. 

If  yesterday  could  be  recall'd  agam, 

E'en  now  would  I  conclude  my  happy  reign : 

But  'tis  too  late,  my  glorious  race  is  run, 

And  a  dark  cloud  o'ertakes  my  setting  tun. 


102 


TAhLE%. 


Hadsf-  thou  not  loved,  or  loving,  saved  the  shame 
If  not  the  sin,  by  some  illustrionis  nam"  : 
This  little  comfort  had  relieved  my  mind, 
'Twas  frailty,  not  unusual  to  thy  kind  : 
But  thy  low  fall  beneath  thy  royal  blood, 
Sliows  downward  appetite  to  mix  with  mud. 
Thus,  not  the  least  excuse  is  left  for  thee, 
Nor  the  least  refuge  for  unhappy  me. 

*  For  him  I  have  resolved,  whom  by  surprise 
I  took,  and  scarce  can  call  it,  in  disguise  : 
For  sueh  was  his  attire,  as  with  intent 

Of  nature,  suited  to  his  mean  descent : 
The  harder  question  yet  remains  b'lhind, 
What  pains  a  parent  and  a  prince  can  find 
To  punish  an  offence  of  this  degenerate  kind. 

*  As  I  have  loved,  and  yet  I  love  thee  more 
Than  ever  father  loved  a  child  before  ; 

So,  that  indulgence  draws  me  to  forgive  ; 

Nature,  that  gave  thee  life,  would  have  thee  live. 

But,  as  a  public  parent  of  the  state, 

My  justice,  a-^.d  thy  crime,  requires  thy  fate. 

Fain  would  I  choose  a  i:niddle  course  to  steer ; 

Nature's  too  kind,  and  justice  too  severe  : 

Speak  for  us  both,  and  to  the  balance  bring 

On  either  side  the  father  and  the  king. 

Heaven  knows,  my  heart  is  bent  to  favour  thee  j 

Make  it  but  scanty  weight,  and  leave  the  rest  to  nacj 

Here  stopping  with  a  sigh,  he  pour'd  a  flood 
Of  tears,  to  make  bis  last  expression  good. 

She,  who  had  heard  him  speak,  nor  saw  alone 
The  secret  conduct  of  her  love  was  kcown. 


SIGISMONDA  AND  GUISCARDO.  103 


But  he  was  taken  who  her  soul  possess' d, 
Felt  all  the  pangs  of  sorrow  in  her  breast ; 
And  little  wanted,  but  a  woman's  heart, 
With  cries  and  tears,  had  testified  her  smart ; 
But  inborn  worth,  tha«t  fortune  can  controul, 
New  strung  and  stiff er  bent  her  softer  soul ; 
The  heroine  assumed  the  woman's  place, 
Confirm'd  her  mind,  and  fortified  her  face. 
Why  should  she  beg,  or  what  could  she  pretend, 
When  her  stern  father  had  condemn'd  her  friend  ? 
Her  life  she  might  have  had  ;  but  her  despair 
Of  saving  his  had  put  it  past  her  care  : 
Resolved  on  fate,  she  would  not  lose  her  breath. 
But  rather  than  not  die,  solicit  death. 
Fix'd  on  this  thought,  she,  not  as  women  use.. 
Her  fault,  by  common  frailty,  would  excuse  ; 
But  boldly  justified  her  innocence, 
But  while  the  fact  was  own'd  denied  th'  offence  ; 
Then,  with  dry  eyes,  and  with  an  open  look, 
She  "met  his  glance  midway,  and  thus  undaunted 
spoke : 

*  Tancred,  I  neither  am  disposed  to  make 
Request  for  life,  nor  offer' d  life  to  take  ; 
Much  less  deny  the  deed  ;  but,  least  of  all. 
Beneath  pretended  justice  woakly  fall. 
My  words  to  sacred  truth  shall  be  confined. 
My  deeds  shall  show  the  greatness  of  my  mind. 
That  I  have  loved,  I  own  ;  that  still  I  love, 
I  call  to  witness  all  the  powers  above  : 
Yet  more  I  own  :  to  Guiscard's  love  I  givi 
Tli^  small  remaining  tf me  I  ha\'e  to  lire ; 


FABLES< 


And  if  beyond  tiiis  life  desire  can  be/ 
Not  fafe  itself  sliall  set  my  passion  free, 

'This  first  avow'd;  nor  folly  warp'd  my  reiai. 
Nor  the  frail  texture  of  the  female  kind 
Betray'd  my  virtue:  for,  too  well  I  knew 
What  honour  was,  and  honour  had  his  due. 
Before  the  holy  priest  my  vows  were  tied, 
So  came  I  not  a  strumpet,  but  a  bride. 
This  for  my  fame,  and  for  the  public  voice : 
Yet  more,  his  merits  justified  my  choice ; 
Which  had  they  not,  the  first  election  thine, 
That  bond  dissolved,  the  next  is  freely  mine  : 
Or  grant  I  err'd  (which  yet  I  must  deny;. 
Had  parents  power  e'en  second  vows  to  tie. 
Thy  little  care  to  mend  ray  widow'd  nights 
Has  forced  me  to  recourse  of  marriage  rites) 
To  fill  an  empty  side,  and  follow  known  delightg. 
What  have  I  done  in  this,  deserving  blame  ? 
State  laws  may  alter— Nature's  are  tl-e  same  j 
Those  are  usurp'd  on  helpless  womankind, 
Made  without  our  consent,  and  wanting  power  <k 
bind. 

*  Thou,  Tancred,  better  shouldst  hav«  under- 
stood, 

That  as  thy  father  gave  thee  flesh  and  blood, 

So  gavest  thou  me :  not  from  the  quarry  hew'd, 

But  of  a  softer  mould,  with  sense  endued ; 

Even  softer  than  thy  own,  of  suppler  kind, 

More  exquisite  of  taste,  and  more  than  man  refined. 

Nor  need'st  thou  by  thy  daughter  to  be  told, 

Thoujirh  now  thy  sprightly  blood  with  age  be  cold. 


0 

SIGISMCNDA  AND  CUISCABDO. 


105 


Thou  hast  been  young  i  and  canst  remember  still, 
That  when  thou  hadst  the  power,  thou  hadst  the 
will ; 

And  from  the  past  experience  of  thy  fires, 
Canst  tell  with  what  a  tide  our  strong  desires 
Come  rushing  on  in  youth,  and  what  their  rage 
requires. 

*  And  grant  thy  youth  was  exercised  in  arms, 
When  love  no  leisure  found  for  softer  charms,; 
My  tender  age  in  luxury  was  train' d, 

With  idle  ease  and  pageants  entertain'd ; 

My  hours  my  own,  my  pleasures  unrestrain*d ; 

So  bred,  no  wonder  if  I  took  the  bent 

That  seem'd  e'en  warranted  by  thy  consent; 

For,  when  the  father  is  too  fondly  kind, 

Such  seed  he  sows,  such  harvest  shall  he  find. 

Blame  then  thyself,  as  reason's  law  requires 

(Since  nature  gave,  and  thou  foment'st  my  fires) ; 

If  still  those  appetites  continue  strong, 

Thou  mayst  consider,  I  am  yet  but  young: 

Consider  too,  that  having  been  a  wife, 

I  must  have  tasted  of  a  better  life  ; 

And  am  not  to  be  blamed  if  I  renew, 

By  lawful  means,  the  joys  which  then  I  knew. 

Where  was  the  crime,  if  pleasure  I  procured, 

Young,  and  a  woman,  and  to  bliss  enured? 

That  was  my  case,  and  this  is  my  defence ; 

I  pleased  myself,  I  shunn'd  incontinence. 

And,  urged  by  strong  desires,  indu'Iged  my  sens^ 

*  Left  to  myself,  I  must  avow,  I  strove 
From  public  shame  to  screen  my  secret  love ; 


too 


And  well  acquainted  with  thy  native  pride, 
Endeavour'd,  what  I  could  not  help,  to  hide; 
For  which  a  woman's  wit  an  easy  way  suppHed. 
How  this  so  well  contrived,  so  closely  laid. 
Was  known  to  thee,  or  by  what  chance  betray' d, 
Is  not  my  care :  to  please  thy  pride  alone, 
I  could  have  wish'd  it  had  been  still  unknown. 

*  Nor  took  I  Guiscard  by  blind  fancy  led, 
Or  hasty  choice,  as  many  women  wed  ; 
But  with  deliberate  care  and  ripen'd  thought, 
At  leisure  first  desi'gn'd,  before  I  wrought : 
On  him  I  rested,  after  long  debate. 
And  not  without  considering,  fix'd  my  fate  : 
His  flame  was  equal,  though  by  mine  inspired 
(For  so  the  difference  of  our  birth  required) : 
Had  he  been  born  like  me,  like  me  his  love 
Had  first  begun  what  mine  was  forced  to  nvjve  t 
But  thus  beginning,  thus  we  persevere ; 
Our  passions  yet  continue  what  they  were 
Nor  length  of  trial  makes  our  joys:  *he  less  sincere. 

'  At  this  my  choice,  though  not  by  thi>ne  allow' d 
(Thy  judgment  herding  with  the  common  crowd), 
Thou  takcst  unjust  offence;  and,  led  by  them. 
Dost  less  the  merit  than  the  man  esteem. 
Too  sharply,  Tancred,  by  thy  pride  betray' d, 
Hast  thou  against  the  laws  of  kind  inveigh'd, 
(For  all  th'  offence  is  in  opinion  placed, 
Which  deems  high  birth  by  lowly  clvoice  do* 
based  ! 

This  thought  alone  with  fury  fires  thy  bre'iiJt 
For  holy  marriage  justifies  the  rest), 


SIGISMONDA  AND  GUISCASBO.  lO, 

That  I  have  sunk  the  glories  of  the  state, 
And  mix'd  my  blood  with  a  plebeian  mate  ; 
In  which  I  wonder  thou  shouldst  oversee 
Superior  causes,  or  impute  to  me 
The  fault  of  fortune,  or  the  fates*  decree  ; 
Or  call  it  Heaven's  imperial  power  alone, 
Which  moves  on  springs  of  justice,  though  un« 
known  : 

Yet  this  we  see,  though  order' d  for  the  best, 
The  bad  exalted,  and  the  good  oppress'd  ; 
Permitted  laurels  grace  the  lawless  brow, 
Th'  unworthy  raised,  the  worthy  cast  below. 

*  But  leaving  that :  search  we  the  secret  springs, 
And  backward  trace  the  principles  of  things  ; 
There  shall  we  find,  that  when  the  world  began, 
One  common  mass  composed  the  mould  of  man  ; 
One  paste  of  flesh  on  all  degrees  bestow'd. 

And  kneaded  up  alike  with  moistening  blood. 
The  same  Almighty  Power  inspired  the  frame 
With  kindled  life,  and  form'd  the  souls  the  same  : 
The  faculties  of  intellect  and  will  [skill ; 

Dispensed  with  equal  hand,  disposed  with  equal 
Like  liberty  indulged,  with  choice  of  good  or  ill : 
Thus  born  alike,  from  virtue  first  began 
The  difference  that  distinguish' d  man  from  man  : 
He  claim'd  no  title  from  descent  of  blood. 
But  that  which  made  him  noble,  made  him  good  : 
Warm'd  with  more  particles  of  heavenly  ilame. 
He  wing'd  his  upward  flight,  and  soar'd  to  fame  ; 
The  rest  remain 'd  below,  a  tribe  without  a  name. 

*  This  law,  though  custom  now  diverts  the  course, 
As  nature's  institute,  is  yet  in  force, 


108 


FABLES. 


Uncancell'd,  though  disused  ;  and  he  whose  mind 
Is  virtuous,  is  alone  of  noble  kind  ; 
Though  poor  in  fortune,  of  celestial  race  ; 
And  he  commits  the  crime  who  calls  him  base, 
*  Now  lay  the  line,  and  measure  all  thy  court, 
By  inward  virtue,  not  external  port ; 
And  find  whom  justly  to  prefer  above 
The  man  on  whom  my  judgment  placed  my  love  : 
So  shalt  thou  see  his  parts  and  person  shine, 
And,  thus  compared,  the  rest  a  base  degenerate  linCi 
Nor  took  I,  when  I  first  surveyed  thy  court, 
His  valour  or  his  virtues  on  report ; 
But  trusted  what  I  ought  to  trust  alone 
Relying  on  thy  eyes,  and  not  my  owtn  : 
Thy  praise  (and  thine  was  then  the  public  voice) 
First  recommended  Guiscard  to  my  choice. 
Directed  thus  by  thee,  I  look'd,  and  found 
A  man,  I  thought,  deserving  to  be  crown' d  ; 
First  by  my  father  pointed  to  my  sight, 
Nor  less  conspicuous  by  his  native  light ; 
His  mind,  his  mien,  the  features  of  his  face, 
Excelling  all  the  rest  of  human  race  : 
These  were  thy  thou-ghts,  and  thou  couldst  judge 
aright, 

Till  interest  made  a  jaundice  in  thy  sight. 
Or  should  I  grant,  thou  didst  not  rightly  see  ; 
Then  thou  wert  first  deceived,  and  I  deceived  by 
thee. 

But  if  thou  shalt  allege,  through  pride  of  mind. 
Thy  blood  with  one  of  base  condition  join'd, 
'Tis  false  ;  for  'tis  not  baseness  to  be  poor ; 
Hk  poverty  augments  thy  crime  the  more  ) 


SiGISltfONDi   AND  GUISCARDO.  109 


Upbruius  thy  justice  with  the  scant  regard 

Of  worth  :  whom  princes  praise,  tney  should  reward. 

Are  these  the  kings  entrusted  by  the  crowd 

With  wealth,  to  be  dispensed  for  common  good  ? 

The  people  sweat  not  for  their  king's  delight, 

T'  enrich  a  pimp,  or  raise  a  parasite  ; 

Tlieirs  is  the  toil ;  and  he  who  well  has  served 

His  country,  has  his  country's  wealth  deserved. 

E'en  mighty  monarchs  oft  are  meanly  born, 

And  kings  by  birth  to  lowest  rank  return  ; 

AH  subject  to  the  power  of  giddy  chance. 

For  fortune  can  depress  or  can  advance  : 

But  true  nobility  is  of  the  mind, 

Not  given  by  chance,  and  not  to  chance  resign'd. 

*  For  the  remaining  doubt  of  thy  decree. 
What  to  resolve,  and  how  dispose  of  me  ; 
Be  warn'd  to  cast  that  useless  c«re  aside, 
IMyself  alone  will  for  myself  provide  ; 
If,  in  thy  doting  and  decrepit  age. 
Thy  soul,  a  stranger  in  thy  youth  to  rage, 
Begins  in  cruel  deeds  to  take  delight, 
Gorge  with  my  blood  thy  barbarous  appetite  ; 
For  I  so  little  am  disposed  to  pray 
For  life,  I  would  not  cast  a  wish  away. 
&uch  as  it  is,  th'  offence  is  all  my  own  ; 
And  what  to  Guiscard  is  already  done. 
Or  to  be  done,  is  doom'd  by  thy  decree, 
TTiat;.  if  not  executed  first  by  thee, 
Shall  on  ray  person  be  perform' d  by  me. 

'  Away  !  with  women  weep,  and  leave  me  }^ere, 
Fix'd,  like  a  man,  to  die  without  a  tear; 


110 


FABLBS, 


Or  save  or  slay  us  both  this  present  hour, 
'Tis  all  that  fate  has  left  within  thy  power  !* 

She  said  :  nor  did  her  father  fail  to  find 
In  all  she  spoke  the  greatness  of  her  mind ; 
Yet  thought  she  was  not  obstinate  to  die, 
Nor  deera'd  the  death  she  promised  was  so  nigh. 
Secure  in  this  belief,  he  left  the  dame, 
Resolved  to  spare  her  life,  and  save  her  shame  ; 
But  that  detested  object  to  remove, 
To  wreak  his  vengeance,  and  to  cure  her  love. 

Intent  on  this,  a  secret  order  sign'd. 
The  death  of  Guiscard  to  his  guards  enjoin' d  : 
Strangling  was  chosen,  and  the  night  the  time  ; 
A  mute  revenge,  and  Blind  as  was  the  crime  : 
His  faithful  heart,  a  bloody  sacrifice, 
Torn  from  his  breast,  to  glut  the  tyrant's  eyes, 
Closed  the  severe  command  :  for,  slaves  to  pay, 
What  kings  decree  the  soldier  must  obey  : 
Waged  against  foes  ;  and  when  the  wars  are  o'er, 
Fit  only  to  maintain  despotic  power  : 
Pangerous  to  freedom,  and  desired  alone 
By  kings  who  seek  an  arbitrary  throne. 
Such  were  these  guards  ;  as  ready  to  have  slain 
The  prince  himself,  allured  with  greater  gain  : 
So  was  the  charge  perform' d  with  better  will 
By  men  enured  to  blood  and  exercised  in  ill. 

Now  though  the  sullen  sire  had  eased  mind, 
The  pomp  of  his  revenge  was  yet  behind, 
A  pomp  prepared  to  grace  the  present  he  design'd 
A  goblet  rich  with  gems,  and  rough  with  gold, 
Of  depth  and  breadth  the  precious  pledge  to  hold, 


SIGI3MONDA  AX  D  GUISCARt)0.  Ill 

With  cruel  care  he  chose  :  the  hollow  part 
Enclosed,  the  lid  conceal'd  the  lover's  heart. 
Thea  of  his  trusted  mischiefs,  one  he  sent, 
And  bade  him  with  these  words  the  gift  present : 
*  Thy  father  sends  thee  this,  to  cheer  thy  breast, 
And  glad  thy  sight  with  what  thou  lovest  the  h^.st ; 
As  thou  hast  pleased  his  eyes,  and  joy'd  his  mind, 
With  what  h'^  loved  the  most  of  humankind.* 

Ere  this,  the  royal  dame,  who  well  had  weigh' d 
The  consequencp.  of  what  her  sire  had  said, 
Fix'd  on  her  fate,  against  th'  expected  hour 
Procured  the  means  to  have  it  in  her  power : 
For  this,  she  had  distill'd,  with  early  care, 
The  juico  of  simples,  friendly  to  despair, 
A  magazine  of  death  ;  and  thus  prepared, 
Secure  to  die,  the  fatal  message  heard  ; 
Then  smiled  severe  ;  nor  with  a  troubled  look. 
Or  trembling  hand,  the  funeral  present  took  ; 
E'en  ke^t  her  countenance,  when  the  lid,  removed, 
Disclosed  the  heart  unfortunately  loved. 
She  needed  not  be  told  within  whose  breast 
It  lodged  ;  the  message  had  explain'd  the  rest. 
Or  not  amaaed,  or  hiding  her  surprise, 
She  sternly  on  the  bearer  fix'd  her  eyes  ; 
Then  thus  :  *  Tell  Tancred,  on  his  daughter's  part, 
The  gold,  though  precio^is,  equals  not  the  heart : 
But  he  did  well  to  give  his  best ;  and  I, 
Who  wish'd  a  worthier  urn,  forgive  his  poverty  !* 

At  this  she  curb'd  a  groan,  that  else  had  comCj 
And,  pausing,  view'd  the  present  in  the  tomb  : 
Then  to  the  heart  adored  devoutly  glew'd 
Her  lips,  and  raising  it,  her  speech  renew-  .1 : 


112 


FABLES. 


*  E'en  from  my  day  of  birth  to  this,  the  bdund 

Of  my  unhappy  being,  I  have  found 

My  father's  care  and  teaderness  expressed  ; 

But  this  act  of  love  excels  the  rest ; 

For  this  so  dear  a  present,  bear  him  back 

The  best  return  that  I  can  live  to  make.* 

The  messenger  dispatch' d,  again  she  vie\T'd 
The  loved  remains,  and  sighing,  thus  pursued : 

•  Source  of  my  life,  and  lord  of  my  desires, 

In  whom  I  lived,  with  whom  my  soul  expires : 
Poor  heart  I  no  more  the  spring  of  vital  heat, 
Cursed  be  the  hands  that  tore  thee  from  thy  seat! 
The  course  is  finish'd  which  thy  fates  decreed, 
And  thou  from  thy  corporeal  prison  freed : 
Soon  hast  thou  reach' d  the  goal  with  mendetJ 
pace, 

A  v/orld  of  woes  dispatch' d  in  little  space  : 

Forced  by  thy  worth,  thy  foe,  in  death  become 

Thy  friend,  has  lodged  thee  in  a  costly  tomb. 

There  yet  remain'd  thy  funeral  exequies, 

The  weeping  Oribute  of  thy  widow's  eyes  ; 

And  those,  indulgent  Heaven  has  found  the  way 

That  I  before  my  death  have  leave  to  pay. 

My  father  e'en  in  cruelty  is  kind. 

Or  heaven  has  turn'd  the  malice  of  his  mind 

To  better  uses  than  his  hate  design' d  ; 

And  made  th'  insult  which  in  his  gift  appears 

The  means  to  mourn  thee  with  my  pious  tears  ; 

Which  I  will  pay  thee  down  before  I  go. 

And  save  myself  the  pains  to  weep  below, 

If  souls  can  weep  ;  though  once  I  meant  to  mee* 

My  fate  with  face  unmoved,  and  eyes  unwet ; 


SIGISMOXOA  AND  GUISCABDO.  113 


Yet  since  I  have  thee  here  in  narrow  room. 

My  tears  s>iall  set  thee  firs-t  afloat  within  thy  tomb : 

Then  (as  I  know  thy  spirit  hovers  nigh) 

Under  thy  friendly  conduct  will  I  fly 

To  regions  unexplored,  secure  to  share 

Thy  state  ;  nor  hell  shall  punishment  appear  ; 

And  Heaven  is  double  heaven,  if  thou  art  there  i* 

She  said  :  her  brimful  eyes,  that  ready  stood, 
And  only  wanted  will  to  weep  a  flood. 
Released  their  watery  store,  and  pour'd  amain, 
Like  clouds  low  hung,  a  sober  shower  of  rain  ; 
Mute  solemn  sorrow,  free  from  female  noise, 
Such  as  the  majesty  of  grief  destroys  : 
For,  bending  o'er  the  cup,  the  tears  she  shed 
Seem'd  by  the  posture  to  discharge  her  liead, 
O'crfill'd  before  ;  and  oft  (her  mouth  applied 
To  the  cold  heart)  she  kisa'd  at  once,  and  cried. 
Her  maids,  who  stood  amazed,  nor  knew  the  cause 
Of  her  complaining,  nor  whose  heart  it  was, 
Yet  all  due  measures  of  her  mourning  kept, 
l>id  ofllce  at  the  dirge,  and  by  infection  wepb; 
And  oft  inquired  th'  occasion  of  her  grief 
(Unanswer'd  but  by  sighs),  and  ofl"er'd  vain  relief. 
At  length,  her  stock  of  tears  already  shed, 
She  wiped  her  eyes,  she  raised  her  drooping  head, 
And  tiius  pursued  :  *  O  ever  faithful  heart ! 
1  have  perform' d  the  ceremonial  part, 
The  decencies  of  grief :  it  rests  behind, 
Tliat  as  our  bodies  were,  our  souls  be  join'd  : 
To  thy  what*'er  abode,  my  shade  convey, 
And  as  an  elder  ghost,  direct  the  way.' 


114 


FABLES- 


She  said  ;  and  bade  the  vial  tc  be  brought, 
Where  she  before  had  brew'd  the  deadly  draught! 
First  pouring  cut  the  medicinable  bane, 
The  heart,  her  tears  had  rinsed,  she  bathed  again  j 
Then  down  her  throat  the  death  securely  throws, 
And  quaflfs  a  long  oblivion  of  her  woes. 

This  done  she  mounts  the  genial  bed,  and  there 
(Her  body  first  composed  with  honest  care) 
Attends  the  welcome  rest :  her  hands  yet  hold, 
Close  to  her  heart,  the  monumental  gold  ; 
Nor  further  word  she  spoke,  but  closed  her  sight, 
And,  quiet,  sought  the  covert  of  the  night. 

The  damsels,  who  the  while  in  silence  mourn' d. 
Not  knowing,  nor  suspecting  death  suborn'd  ; 
Yet,  as  their  duty  was,  to  Tancred  sent, 
Who,  conscious  of  th'  occasion,  fear'd  th'  event, 
Alarm'd,  and  with  presaging  heart  he  came. 
And  drttw  the  curtains,  and  exposed  the  dame 
To  loathsome  light :  then,  with  a  late  relief. 
Made  vain  efforts  to  mitigate  her  grief. 
She,  what  she  could,  excluding  day,  her  eyes 
Kept  firmly  seal'd,  and  sternly  thus  replies  : 

*  Tancred !  restrain  thy  tears,  unsought  by  rae, 
And  sorrow,  unavailing  now  to  thee  : 
Did  ever  man  before  afflict  his  mind. 
To  see  th'  effect  of  what  himself  design'd  ? 
Yet  if  thou  hast  remaining  in  thy  heart 
Some  sense  of  love,  some  imextinguish'd  part 
Of  former  kindness,  largely  once  profess'd. 
Let  me  by  that  adjure  thy  hardened  breast, 
Nat  to  deny  thy  dauy;htev's  last  request. 


4 


SIGISMONDA  AUb  GUlSCAUDO.  114 


The  secret  love,  which  I  so  lonj  enjoy'd, 
And  still  coneeal'd  to  gratify  thy  pride, 
Thou  hasi  disjoin'd  ;  but,  with  my  dyin'g  breath, 
Seek  not,  I  beg  thee,  to  disjoin  ouf  death  ; 
Where'er  his  corpse  by  thy  command  13  laid, 
Thither  let  mine  in  public  be  conveyed  ; 
Exposed  in  open  view,  and  side  by  side, 
Acknowledged  as  a  bridegroom  and  a  bride.* 

The  prince's  anguish  hinder'd  his  reply  : 
And  she,  who  felt  her  fate  approaching  nigh, 
Scifed  the  cold  heart,  and  heaving  to  her  breast, 
'  Here,  precious  pledge  (she  said),  securely  rest !' 
These  accents  were  her  last  ;  the  creeping  death 
Benumb'd  her  senses  first,  then  stopp'd  hor  breathi 

Thus  she  for  disobedience  justly  died  ; 
The  sire  was  justly  punished  for  his  pride  : 
The  youth,  least  guilty,  suffer' d  for  th'  oflence 
Of  duty  violated  to  his  prince  : 
Who,  late  repenting  of  his  cruel  deed. 
One  common  sepulchre  for  both  decreed  ; 
Entomb'd  the  wretched  pair  in  royal  state, 
And  on  their  monument  inscribed  their  fate* 


t  i 


THE   COCK   AND  THE  FOX  ; 


THE  TALK  OF  THE  NUN'S  PRIEST. 


There  lived,  as  author's  tell,  ii*  days  of  yore, 
A  widow  somewhat  old,  and  very  poor  : 
Deep  in  a  dell  her  cottage  lonely  stood, 
Well  thatch' d,  and  under  covert  of  a  wood. 

This  dowager,  on  whom  my  tale  I  found, 
Since  last  she  laid  her  husband  in  the  ground, 
A  simple  sober  life  in  patience  led, 
And  had  but  just  enough  to  buy  her  bread  : 
But  housewifing  the  little  Heaven  had  lent, 
She  duly  paid  a  gro^r  for  quarter- rent ; 
And  pinch'd  her  belly  with  her  daughters  two, 
To  bring  the  year  about  with  much  ado. 

The  cattle  in  her  homestead  were  three  sows, 
A  ewe  call'd  Mally,  and  three  brinded  cows. 
Her  parlour-window  stuck  with  herbs  around. 
Of  savoury  smell ;  and  rushes  strcv'd  the  ground* 
A  maple-dresser  in  her  hall  she  had. 
On  which  full  many  a  slender  meal  she  made, 


118 


PAULES. 


For  no  delicious  morsel  pass'd  her  throat  j 

According  to  her  cloth  she  cut  her  coart : 

No  poignant  sauce  she  knew,  nor  costly  treat. 

Her  liunger  gave  a  relish  to  her  meat : 

A  sparing  diet  did  her  health  assure  ; 

Or  sick,  a  pepper-posset  was  her  cure. 

Before  the  day  was  done,  her  work  she  sped, 

And  never  went  by  candlelight  to  bed  : 

With  exercise  she  sweat  ill  humours  out, 

Her  dancing  was  not  hinder'd  by  the  gout. 

Her  poverty  was  glad  ;  her  heart  contoit ; 

Nor  knew  she  what  the  spleen  or  vapours  meant. 

Of  wine  she  never  tasted  through  the  year, 
But  white  and  black  was  all  her  homely  cheer ; 
Brown  bread,  and  milk  (but  first  she  skimm'd  hei 
And  rashers  of  singed  bacon  on  the  coals.  [bowls), 
On  holidays,  an  egg,  or  two  at  most ; 
But  her  ambition  never  reach' d  to  roast. 

A  yard  she  had  with  pales  enclosed  about, 
Some  high,  some  low,  and  a  dry  ditch  wiJ:hout, 
Within  this  homestead  lived,  without  a  peer, 
for  crowing  loud,  the  noble  Chanticleer  : 
So  hight  her  cock,  whose  singing  did  surpass 
The  merry  notes  of  organs  at  the  mass. 
3\fore  certain  was  the  crowing  of  a  cock 
To  number  hours  than  is  an  abbey  clock  : 
And  sooner  than  the  matin-bell  was  rung, 
He  clapp'd  his  wings  upon  his  roost,  and  sung; 
For  when  degrees  fifteen  ascended  right, 
By  sure  instin(rt  he  kn'ew  'twas  one  at  night* 
High  was  his  comb,  and  coral-red  withal, 
In  dents,  embattled  like  a  castle  walU 


THE  COCK  AND  THE  FOX. 


His  bill  was  raven-black,  and  shone  like  jet ; 
Blue  were  his  legs,  and  orient  were  his  feet ; 
White  were  his  nails,  like  silver  to  behold, 
His  body  glittering  like  the  burnish' d  gold. 

This  gentle  cock,  for  solace  of  his  life, 
Six  misjses  had,  beside  his  lawful  wife  ; 
Scandal,  that  spares  no  king,  though  ne'er  so  go< 
Savs,  they  were  all  of  his  own  flesh  and  blood  ; 
His  sisters  both  by  sire  and  mother's  side, 
And  sure  their  likeness  show'd  them  near  allied. 
But  make  the  worst,  the  monarch  did  no  more 
Than  all  the  Ptolemies  had  done  before  : 
When  incest  is  for  interest  of  nation, 
*Tis  made  no  sin  by  holy  dispensation. 
Some  lines  have  been  maintain' d  by  this  alone, 
Which  by  their  common  ugliness  are  known. 

But  passing  this,  as  from  our  tale  apart. 
Dame  Partlet  was  the  sovereign  of  his  heart : 
Ardent  in  love,  outrageous  in  his  play, 
He  feather'd  her  a  hundred  times  a  daj: 
And  she,  tha.t  was  not  only  passing  fair, 
But  was  withal  discreet  and  debonair, 
■Resolved  the  passive  doctrine  to  fulfil. 
Though  loath,  and  let  him  work  his  wicked  will. 
At  board  and  bed  was  affable  and  kind. 
According  as  their  marriage  vow  did  bind, 
And  as  the  church's  precept  had  enjoin'd. 
E'en  since  she  was  a  se'nnight  old,  they  say, 
Was  chaste  and  humble  to  her  dying  day ; 
Nor,  chick  nor  hen,  was  known  to  disobey. 

By  this  her  husband's  heart  she  did  obtain  ; 
What  cannot  beauty,  join'd  with  virtue,  gain  1 


120 


Fables. 


She  was  his  only  joy,  and  he  her  pride, 
She,  when  she  walk'd,  went  pecking  by  his  side  ; 
If,  spurning  on  the  ground,  he  sprung  a  corn, 
The  tribute  in  his  bill  to  her  was  boFne. 
But  oh  !  what  joy  it  was  to  hear  him  sing 
In  summer,  when  the  day  began  to  spring ; 
Stretching  his  neck,  and  warbling  in  his  throat 
Solus  cum  sold,  then  was  all  his  note. 
For,  in  the  days  of  yore,  the  birds  of  parts 
Were  bred  to  speak,  and  sing,  and  learn  the  liberal 
arts. 

It  happ'd,  that,  perching  on  the  parlour-beam 
Amidst  his  wives,  he  had  a  deadly  dream, 
Just  at  the  dawn  ;  and  sigh'd,  and  groan' d  so 
fast. 

As  every  breath  he  drew  would  be  his  last. 
Dame  Partlet,  ever  nearest  to  his  side, 
Keard  all  his  piteojis  moan,  and  how  he  cried 
For  help  from  gods  and  men  :  and  sore  aghast 
She  peck'd  and  puU'd,  and  waken'd  him  at  last. 

*  Dear  heart,'  said  she,  '  for  love  of  heaven,  declare 
Your  pain,  and  make  me  partner  of  your  care. 
You  groan,  sir,  ever  since  the  morning  light, 

As  something  had  disturb'd  your  noble  spright.* 
*  And,  madam,  well  I  might,'  said  Chanticleer, 

*  Never  was  Shrovetide  cock  in  such  a  fear. 
Even  still  I  run  all  over  in  a  sweat. 

My  princely  senses  not  recover'd  yet. 
For  such  a  dream  I  had  of  dire  portent. 
That  much  I  fear  my  body  will  be  shent ; 
It  bodes  I  shall  have  wars  and  woful  strife, 
Or  in  a  loathsome  dungeon  end  my  life. 


THE  COCK  AND  THE  FOX. 


121 


Know,  dame,  I  dream' d  witlxn  my  troubled  breast, 
That  in  our  yard  I  saw  a  murderous  beast, 
That  on  ray  body  would  have  made  arrest. 
With  waking  eyes  I  ne'er  beheld  his  fellow. 
His  colour  was  betwixt  a  red  and  yellow, 
Tipp'd  was  his  tail,  and  both  his  pricking  ears, 
With  black,  aiid  much  unlike  his  other  hairs  : 
The  rest,  in  shape  a  beagle's  whelp  througbout. 
With  broader  forehead,  and  a  sharper  snout : 
Deep  in  his  front  were  sunk  his  glowing  eyes  ; 
That  yet  methinks  I  see  him  with  surprise. 
Reach  out  your  hand,  I  drop  with  clammy  sweat, 
And  lay  it  to  my  heart,  and  feel  it  beat.*  [above, 

'Now,  fie,  for  shame!'  quoth  she,  *  by  heaven 
Thou  hast  for  ever  lost  thy  lady's  love  ; 
No  woman  can  endure  a  recreant  knight. 
He  must  be  bold  by  day,  and  free  by  night. 
Our  sex  desires  a  husband,  or  a  friend, 
Who  can  our  honour  and  his  own  defend  ; 
Wise,  hardy,  secret,  liberal  of  his  purse  : 
A  fool  is  nauseous,  but  a  coward  worse  : 
No  bragging  coxcomb,  yet  no  baffled  knight. 
How  darest  thou  talk  of  love,  and  darest  not  fight  ? 
How  darest  thou  tell  thy  dame  thou  art  a-feard  ? 
Hast  thou  no  manly  heart,  and  hast  a  beard  ? 

*  If  aught  from  fearful  dreams  may  be  divined, 
They  signify  a  cock  of  dunghill  kind. 
All  dreams,  as  in  old  Galen  I  have  read. 
Are  from  repletion  and  complexion  bred ; 
From  rising  fumes  of  indigested  food, 
And  noxious  humours  that  in^jct  the  blood 


122 


PABLSS. 


And  sure,  my  lord,  if  I  can  read  aright, 

These  foolish  fancies  you  have  had  to-night 

Are  certain  symptoms  (in  the  canting  style) 

Of  boiling  choler,  and  abounding  bile : 

This  yellow  gall  that  in  your  stomach  floats 

Engenders  all  these  visionary  thoughts. 

^Vhen  choler  overflows,  then  dreams  are  bred 

Of  flames,  and  all  the  family  of  red  ; 

Red  dragons  and  red  beasts  in  sleep  we  view ; 

For  humours  are  distinguish'd  by  their  hue. 

From  hence  we  dream  of  wars  and  warlike  thinprs. 

And  wasps  and  hornets  with  their  double  stings. 

Choler  adust  congeals  our  blood  with  fear ; 

Then  black  bulls  toss  us,  and  black  devils  tear. 

In  sanguine  airy  dreams  aloft  we  bound, 

With  rheums  oppressed  we  sink  in  rivers  drown'd. 

*  More  I  could  say,  but  thus  conclude  my  theme : 
The  dominating  humour  makes  the  dream. 

Cato  was  in  his  time  accounted  wise, 
And  he  condemns  them  all  for  empty  lies. 
Take  my  advice,  and  when  we  fly  to  ground, 
With  laxatives  presewe  your  body  sound, 
And  purge  the  peccant  humours  that  abound. 
I  should  be  loath  to  lay  you  on  a  bier  ; 
And  though  there  lives  no  'pothecary  near, 
I  dare  for  once  prescribe  for  your  disease. 
And  save  long  bills,  and  a  damn'd  doctor's  fees. 

*  Two  sovereign  herbs,  which  I  by  practice  kAOW» 
And  both  at  hand,  for  in  our  yard  they  growVj 

On  peril  of  my  soul  shall  rid  you  wholl/ 
Of  yellow  choler,  and  of  melancholy  ? 


THE  COCK  AND  THE  FOX. 


m 


You  must  both  purge  and  vomit ;  but  obey. 

And  for  the  love  of  heaven  make  no  delay. 

Since  hot  and  dry  in  your  complexion  join. 

Beware  the  sun  when  in  a  vernal  sign  ; 

For  when  he  mounts  exalted  in  the  ram. 

If  then  he  finds  your  body  in  a  flame, 

Replete  with  choler,  I  dare  lay  a  groat,  ^ 

A  tertian  ague  is  at  least  your  lot :  ,^ 

Perhaps  a  fever  (which  the  gods  forfend  !) 

May  bring  your  youth  to  some  untimely  end. 

And  therefore,  sir,  as  you  desire  to  live, 

A  day  or  two  before  your  laxative, 

Take  just  three  worms,  nor  under  nor  above, 

Because  the  gods  unequal  numbers  love. 

These  digestives  prepare  you  for  your  purge. 

Of  fumatory,  centaury,  and  spurge, 

And  of  ground  ivy  add  a  leaf  or  two, 

AU  which  within  our  yard  or  garden  grow  : 

Vat  these,  and  be,  my  lord,  of  better  cheer  : 

Vour  father's  son  was  never  born  to  fear.* 

*  l\ladam,'  quoth  he,  *  gramercy  for  your  care ; 
But  Cato,  whom  you  quoted,  you  may  spare. 
'Tis  true,  a  wise  and  worthy  man  he  seems, 
And  (as  you  say)  gave  no  belief  to  dreams  ; 
But  other  men  of  more  authority. 
And,  by  th'  immortal  powers  !  as  wise  as  he. 
Maintain,  with  sounder  sense,  that  dreams  forbode  { 
For  Homer  plainly  says  they  come  from  God 
Nor  Cato  said  it  :  but  some  modern  fool 
Imposed  in  Cato's  name  on  boys  at  school. 

'  Believe  mc,  madam,  morning  dreams  foreshow 
Th*  evenw  5)f  things,  and  future  weal  or  woe : 


124 


FABLES. 


Some  truths  are  not  by  reason  to  be  trieJ, 
But  we  have  sure  experifncfc  for  our  j^uide. 
An  ancient  author*,  e(]u;il  witli  tlie  best, 
Relates  this  tale  of  dreams  among  the  rest : — 

*  Two  friends,  or  >)rothers,  with  devout  intent, 
On  some  far  pilgrimafje  tocrether  went. 

It  happen'd  so  that  when  the  sun  was  down^ 

They  just  arrived  by  twilight  at  a  town  ; 

That  day  had  been  the  bairin^j  of  a  bull, 

*Twas  at  a  feast,  and  evfiv  inn  so  full, 

That  no  void  room  in  chamber,  or  on  ground, 

And  but  one  sorry  bed  was  to  be  found  ; 

And  that  so  little  it  would  hold  but  one. 

Though  till  this  hour  they  never  lay  alone. 

'    *  So  were  they  forced  to  part ;  one  stay'd  behind. 

His  fellow  sought  what  lodging  he  could  find  : 

At  las-t  he  found  a  stall  where  oxen  stood, 

And  that  he  rather  chose  than  lie  abroad. 

*Twas  in  a  further  yard  without  a  door, 

But,  for  his  ease,  well  litter'd  was  the  floor. 

*  His  fellow,  who  the  narrow  bed  had  kept. 
Was  weary,  and  without  a  recker  slept : 
Supine  he  snored  ;  but.  in  the  dead  of  night, 
He  dream'd  his  friend  appear'd  before  his  sight, 
Who,  with  a  ghastly  look  and  doleful  cry. 
Said,  '*  Help  me,  broth e-r,  or  this  night  I  die 
Arise,  and  help,  before  all  help  be  vain, 

Or  in  an  ox's  stall  I  shall  be  slain  !" 

*  Roused  from  his  rest,  he  waken'd  in  a  start, 

Shivering  with  horror,  and  with  aching  heart  ( 


•  Cicero  :  -n  his  treatise  De  Divinationt' 


THE  COCK  AND  THE  FOX. 


12% 


At  length  to  cure  himself  by  reason  tries : 
'Twas  but  a  dream,  and  what  are  dreams  but  lies  ! 
So  thinking,  changed  his  side,  and  closed  his  eyes. 
His  dream  returns  ;  his  friend  appears  again, 
*'  The  murderers  come  :  now  help,  or  I  am  slain  5* ' 
*Twas  but  a  vision  still,  and  visions  are  but  vam. 
He  dream'd  the  third  ;  but  now  his  friend  appear'd 
Pale,  naked,  pierced  with  wounds,  with  blood  be- 
smear'd  : 

*'  Thrice  warn'd,  awake  !"  said  he,  *'  relief  is  late. 

The  deed  is  done  ;  but  thou  revenge  my  fate  ! 

Tardy  of  aid,  unseal  thy  heavy  eyes. 

Awake,  and  with  the  dawning  day  arise  : 

Take  to  the  western  gate  thy  ready  way. 

For  by  that  passage  they  my  corpse  convey  : 

My  corpse  is  in  a  tumbril  laid,  among 

The  filth  and  ordure,  and  enclosed  with  dung. 

That  cart  arrest,  and  raise  a  common  cry  : 

For  sacred  hunger  of  my  gold  I  die  !" 

Then  show'd  his  grisly  wound  ;  and  last  he  drew 

A  piteous  sigh  ;  and  took  a  long  adieu ! 

*  Tlie  frighted  friend  arose  by  break  of  day, 
And  found  the  stall  where  late  his  fellow  lay. 
Then  of  his  impious  host  inquiring  more, 
Was  answer' d  that  his  guest  was  gone  before : 

*'  Muttering  he  went,"  said  he,  "  by  morning  light, 
And  much  complain'd  of  his  ill  rest  by  night." 
This  raised  suspicion  in  the  julgrim's  mind  ; 
Because  ail  hosts  are  of  an  evil  kind, 
And  oft,  to  share  the  spoil,  with  robbers  join'd. 

*  His  dream  confirm' d  his  thought:  with  troubled 
Straight  to  the  western  gate  his  way  he  took ;  [look 


225 


FABLES. 


*  For  priests,'  he  said,  *  are  patterns  for  the  rest 
tThe  gold  of  Heaven,  who  bear  the  God  impress'd)  : 
But  when  the  precious  coin  is  kept  unclean, 
The  Sovereign's  image  is  no  longer  seen. 
If  they  he  foul,  on  whom  the  people  trust, 
Well  may  the  baser  brass  contract  a  rust.' 

The  prelate  for  his  holy  life  he  prized  ; 
The  worldly  pomp  of  prelacy  despised. 
His  Saviour  cam-e  not  with  a  gaudy  show 
Nor  was  his  kingdom  of  the  world  below. 
Patience  in  want,  and  poverty  of  mind, 
These  marks  of  church  and  churchmen  he  design' d. 
And  living  taught,  and  dying  left  behind. 
The  crown  he  wore  was  of  the  pointed  thorn  ; 
In  purple  he  was  crucified,  not  born. 
They  who  contend  for  place  and  high  degree, 
Are  not  his  sons,  but  those  of  Zebedee. 

Not  but  he  knew  the  signs  of  earthly  power 
Might  well  become  Saint  Peter's  successor: 
The  holy  father  holds  a  double  reign  ;  [plain. 
The  prince  may  keep  his  pomp — the  fisher  must  be 

Such  was  the  saint,  who  shone  with  every  g'ace. 
Reflecting,  IMoseslike,  his  Maker's  face. 
God  saw  his  image  lively  was  express' d, 
And  his  own  work,  as  in  creation,  bless'd. 

The  tempter  saw  him  too  with  envious  eye, 
And,  as  on  Job,  demanded  leave  to  try. 
He  took  the  time  when  Richard  was  deposed, 
And  high  and  low  with  happy  Harry  closed. 
This  prince,  though  great  in  arms,  the  priest  with, 
stood  ; 

Near  though  he  was,  yet  not  the  next  of  blood  » 


THE  COCK  AND  TflE  FOX.  12? 

Of  two  young  merchants,  whom  the  hope  of  gain 
Induced  in  partnership  to  cross  the  main  : 
Waiting  till  willing  winds  their  sails  supplied, 
Within  a  trading-town  they  long  abide, 
Full  fairly  situate  on  a  haven's  side. 

*  One  evening  it  befell,  that  looking  out. 
The  wind  they  long  had  wish'd  was  come  about. 
Well  pleased  they  went  to  rest,  and,  if  the  gale 
Till  morn  continued,  both  resolved  to  sail. 
But  as  together  in  a  bed  they  lay, 
The  younger  had  a  dream  at  break  of  day. 
A  man,  he  thought,  stood  frowning  at  his  side, 
Who  warn'd  him  for  his  safety  to  provide, 
Nor  put  to  sea,  but  safe  on  shore  abide. 
"  I  come,  thy  genius,  to  command  thy  stay  ; 
Trust  not  the  winds,  for  fatal  is  the  day, 
And  death,  unhoped,  attends  the  watery  way.'* 

'The  vision  said,  and  vanish' d  from  his  sight: 
The  dreamer  waken' d  in  a  mortal  fright ; 
Then  pull'd  his  drow<|r  neighbour,  and  declared 
What  in  his  slumber  he  had  seen  and  heard. 
His  friend  smiled  scornful,  and  with  proud  contempt 
Rejects  as  idle  what  his  fellow  dreamt : 
**  Stay,  who  will  stay :  for  me  no  fears  restrain, 
Who  follow  Mercury,  the  god  of  gain  : 
Let  each  man  do  as  to  his  fancy  seems, 
I  wait,  not  I,  till  you  have  better  dreams. 
Dreams  are  but  interludes,  which  fancy  makes  , 
When  monarch  Reason  sleeps,  this  mimic  wakea  : 
Compounds  a  medley  of  disjointed  things  : 
A  mob  of  cobblers,  and  a  court  of  kings : 


128 


FABLES. 


Light  fumes  arc  merry,  grosser  fumes  are  sad ; 
Both  are  the  reasonable  soul  run  mad  : 
And  many  monstrous  forms  in  sleep  we  see, 
That  neither  were,  nor  are,  nor  e'er  can  be. 
Sometimes  forgotten  things  long  cast  behind 
Hush  forward  in  the  brain,  and  come  to  mind ; 
The  nurse's  legends  are  for  truths  received, 
And  the  man  dreams  but  what  the  boy  believed. 
Sometimes  we  but  rehearse  a  former  play, 
The  night  restores  our  actions  done  by  day ; 
As  hounds  in  sleep  will  open  for  their  prey. 
In  short,  the  farce  of  dreams  is  of  a  piece. 
Chimeras  all,  and  more  absurd,  or  less : 
You,  who  believe  in  tales,  abide  alo«e  ; 
Whate'er  I  get,  this  voyage,  is  my  own.'* 

'  Thus  while  he  spoke,  he  heard  the  shouting  crew 
That  call'd  aboard,  and  took  his  last  adieu! 
The  vessel  went  before  a  merry  gale. 
And  for  quick  passage  put  on  every  sail  : 
But  when  least  fear'd,  and  e'en  in  open  day, 
The  mischief  overtook  her  in  the  way  : 
Whether  she  sprung  a  leak,  I  cannot  And, 
Or  whether  she  was  overset  with  wind, 
Or  that  some  rock  below  her  bottom  rent ; 
But  down  at  once  with  all  her  crew  she  went : 
Her  fellow  ships  from  far  her  loss  descried; 
But  only  she  was  sunk,  and  all  vt  ere  safe  beside, 

*  By  this  example  you  are  taught  again, 
That  dreams  and  visions  are  not  always  vain. 
But  if.  dear  Partlet,  you  are  yet  in  doubt, 
Another  tale  shall  make  the  former  out. 


TKZ  COCK  AND  THE  FOX. 


129 


*  Kenelra,  the  son  of  Kenulph,  Mercia's  king. 
Whose  holy  life  the  legends  loudly  sing*, 
Warn'd  in  a  dream,  his  murder  did  foretell, 
From  point  to  point,  as  after  it  befell : 

All  circumstances  to  his  nurse  he  told 
(A  wonder,  from  a  child  of  seven  years  old) : 
The  dream  with  horror  heard,  the  gnod  old  wife 
From  treason  counsel' d  him  to  guard  his  life  ; 
But  close  to  keep  the  secret  in  his  mind, 
For  a  boy's  vision  small  belief  would  find. 
The  pious  child,  by  promise  bound,  obey'd  ; 
Nor  was  the  fatal  murder  long  delay'd  : 
By  Quenda  slain,  he  fell  before  his  time, 
Made  a  young  martyr  by  his  sister's  crime. 
The  tale  is  told  by  venerable  Bede, 
Which,  at  your  better  leisure,  you  may  read. 

*  Macrobius,  too,  relates  the  vision  sent 
To  the  great  Scipio,  wit^»  ^"jie  famed  event, 
Objection  makes,  but  after  makes  rc})lie3, 
And  adds,  that  dreams  are  often  prophecie?. 

*  Of  Daniel,  you  may  read  in  holy  writ, 
Who,  when  the  king  his  vision  did  forget, 
Could  word  for  word  the  wondrous  dream  repeat ; 
Nor  less  of  patriarch  Joseph  understand. 

Who  by  a  dream  enslaved  th'  Egyptian  land  ; 
The  years  of  plenty  and  of  dearth  foretold, 
When,  for  their  bread,  their  liberty  they  sold. 
Nor  must  th'  exalted  butler  be  forgot ; 
Nor  he  whose  dream  presaged  his  hanging  lot. 

*  The  leg^ernU  rftcord  Him  as  a  martyr.  He  was  murder*! 
his  sister  guendrcda,  w  hen  only  seven  years  old. 

K 


}30 


FABLES. 


*  And  did  not  Croesus  the  same  death  foresee, 
Kaised  in  a  vision  on  a  lofty  tree  ? 

The  wife  of  Hector,  in  his  utmost  pride, 
Dream' d  of  his  death  the  night  before  he  died : 
Well  was  he  warn'd  from  battle  to  refrain. 
But  men  to  death  decreed  are  warn'd  in  vain  : 
He  dared  the  dream,  and  by  his  fatal  foe  was  slain. 

*  Much  more  I  know,  which  I  forbear  to  aneak  • 
For  see,  the  ruddy  day  begins  to  break  : 

Let  this  suffice,  that  plainly  I  foresee 
My  dream  was  bad,  and  bodes  adversity: 
But  neither  })ills  nor  laxa-tives  I  like. 
They  only  serve  to  make  a  well  man  sick  : 
Of  these  his  gain  the  sharp  physician  makes, 
And  often  gives  a  purge,  but  seldom  takes  : 
They  not  correct,  but  poison  all  the  blood, 
And  ne'er  did  any  but  the  doctors  good. 
Their  tribe,  trade,  trinkets,  I  defy  tkem  all. 
With  every  work  of  'Pothecary's  Hali. 

*  These  melancholy  matters  I  forbear  : 
But  let  me  tell  thee,  Partlet  min'C,  and  sw^ar, 
That  when  I  view  the  beauties  of  thy  face, 

I  fear  not  death,  nor  dangers,  nor  disgrace  : 
So  may  my  soul  have  bliss,  as  when  I  sdy 
The  scarlet  red  about  thy  partridge  eye, 
While  thou  art  constant  to  thy  own  true  knight. 
While  thou  art  mine,  and  I  am  thy  deliarht, 
All  sorrows  at  thy  presence  take  their  fiisht. 
For  true  it  is,  as  in  principio, 
Jilulier  est  homines  confusio. 
IVIadam,  the  meaning  of  this  Latin  is. 
That  woman  is     man  fiis  sovereign  b,'i»a. 


THE  COCK  AND  THE  FOX.  121 

For  when  by  night  I  feel  your  tender  side, 
Though  for  the  narrow  perch  I  cannot  ride, 
Yet  I  have  such  a  solace  in  my  mind, 
That  all  my  boding  cares  are  cast  behind  ; 
And  even  already  I  forget  my  dream  :' — 
He  said,  and  downward  flew  from  off  the  beam. 
For  daylight  now  began  apace  to  spring. 
The  thrush  to  whistle,  and  the  lark  to  sing. 
Then  crowing,  clapp'd  his  wings ;  th'  appointed 
call 

To  chuck  his  wives  together  in  the  hall. 

By  this  the  widow  had  unbarr'd  the  door, 
And  Chanticleer  went  strutting  out  befoTe, 
With  royal  courage,  and  with  heart  so  light, 
As  show'd  he  scorn'd  the  visions  of  the  night. 
Now  roaming  in  the  yard  he  spurn'd  the  ground. 
And  gave  to  Partlet  the  first  grain  he  found. 
Then  often  feather' d  her  with  wanton  play, 
And  tTod  her  twenty  times  ere  prime  of  day  ; 
And  took  by  turns  and  gave  so  much  delight. 
Her  sisters  pined  with  envy  at  the  sight. 

He  chuck' d  again,  when  other  corns  he  found. 
And  scarcely  deign' d  to  set  a  foot  to  ground  ; 
But  swagger' d  like  a  lord  about  his  hall, 
And  his  seven  wives  came  running  at  his  call. 

'Twas  now  the  month  in  which  the  world  began 
(If  March  beheld  the  first  created  man)  : 
And  since  the  vernal  equinox,  the  sun, 
In  Aries,  twelve  degrees,  or  more,  had  run  ; 
When  castingt  up  his  eyes  against  the  light, 
Both  mouth  and  day  and  hour  he  measured  right. 


132 


FABLES, 


And  told  mare  truly  than  th'  ephemeris ; 
For  art  may  err,  but  nature  cannot  mis8. 

Thus  numljeiin'j?  times  and  seasons  in  his  breast, 
His  second  crowHug  the  third  hour  confcss'd: 
Thus  turning,  said  to  Partlet,  '  Sec,  my  dear, 
How  lavish  nature  has  adorn 'd  the  year  ; 
How  the  pale  primrose  and  blue  violet  spring. 
And  birds  essay  their  throats,  disused  to  sing  j 
All  these  are  ours  ;  and  I  with  pleasure  see 
Man  strutting  on  two  legs,  and  aping  me  ! 
An  unfledged  creature,  of  a  lumpish  frame, 
Endued  with  fewer  particles  of  flame  : 
Our  dame  sits  cowering  o'er  a  kitchen  fire, 
I  draw  fresh  air,  and  Nature's  works  admire: 
And,  even  this  day,  in  more  delight  abound 
Than  since  I  was  an  egg  I  ever  found.' 

The  time  shall  come  when  Chanticleer  shall  wish 
His  words  unsaid,  and  hate  his  boasted  bliss : 
The  crested  bird  shall  by  experience  know, 
'ovc  made  not  him  his  masterpiece  below  ; 
And  learn  the  latter  end  of  joy  is  woe. 
The  vessel  of  his  bliss  to  dregs  is  run, 
And  heaven  will  have  him  taste  his  other  tun. 

Ye  wise,  draw  near,  and  hearken  to  my  tale, 
Which  proves  that  oft  the  proud  by  flattery  fail : 
The  legend  is  as  true  I  undertake 
As  Tristran  is,  and  Launcelot  of  the  Lake  : 
Which  all  our  ladies  in  such  reverence  hold. 
As  if  in  book  of  martyrs  it  were  told. 

A  fox  fall  fraught  with  seeming  sanctity. 
That  fear'd  an  oath,  but  like  the  devil  would  lie  { 


THE  COCK  AND  THE  FOX. 


133 


VV^ho  look'd  like  Lent,  and  had  the  holy  leer, 
And  durst  not  sin  before  he  said  his  prayer  ; 
This  pious  cheat,  that  never  suck'd  the  blood, 
Nor  chew'd  the  flesh  of  lambs,  but  when  he  could  ; 
Had  pass'd  three  summers  in  the  neighbouring 
wood  : 

And  musing  long  whom  next  to  circumvent, 
On  Chanticleer  his  wicked  fancy  bent : 
And  in  his  high  imagination  cast 
By  stratagem  to  gratify  his  taste. 

The  plot  contrived,  before  the  break  of  day, 
Saint  Reynard  through  the  hedge  had  made  hif 
way : 

The  pale  was  next,  but  proudly  with  a  bound 

He  leap'd  the  fence  of  the  forbidden  ground  : 

Yet,  fearing  to  be  seen,  within  a  bed 

Of  coleworts  he  conceal' d  his  wily  head  ; 

There  skulk'd  till  afternoon,  and  watch' d  his  time 

(As  murderers  use)  to  perpetrate  his  crinve 

O  hypocrite  !  ingenious  to  destroy  ; 

O  traitor,  worse  than  Sinon  was  to  Troy  ! 

O  vile  subverter  of  the  Gallic  reign. 

More  false  than  Gano  was  to  Charlemagne  I 

O  Chanticleer,  in  an  unhappy  hour 

Didst  thou  forsake  the  safety  of  thy  bower  ! 

Better  for  thee  thou  hadst  believed  thy  dream, 

And  not  that  day  descended  from  the  beam  ! 

But  here  the  doctors  eagerly  dispute  : 
Some  hold  predestination  absolute  : 
Some  clerks  maintain,  that  Heaven  at  firfjt  foreaoc*. 
And  in  the  virtus  of  foresight  decrees. 


134 


FABLES. 


If  this  be  so,  then  prescience  binds  the  vvUl, 
And  mortals  are  not  free  to  good  or  ill : 
For  what  he  first  foresaw,  he  must  ordain, 
Or  his  eternal  prescience  may  be  vain  : 
As  bad  for  us  as  prescience  had  not  been  : 
For  first  or  last  he's  author  of  the  sin. 
And  who  says  that,  let  the  blaspheming  man 
Say  worse  even  of  the  devil,  if  he  can. 
For  how  can  that  Eternal  Power  be  just 
To  punish  man,  who  sins  because  he  must  ? 
Or  how  can  he  reward  a  virtuous  deed, 
Which  is  not  done  by  us,  but  first  decreed  ? 

I  cannot  bolt  this  matter  to  the  bran, 
As  Bradwardin  *  and  holy  Austin  can : 
If  prescience  ca-n  determine  actions  so 
That  we  must  do,  because  he  did  foreknow  ; 
Or  that  foreknowing,  yet  our  choice  is  free. 
Not  forced  to  sin  by  strict  necessity  : 
This  strict  necessity  they  simple  call, 
Another  sort  there  is  conditional. 
The  first  so  binds  the  will,  that  things  foreknown, 
By  spontaneity,  not  choice,  are  done. 
Thus  galley-slaves  tug  willing  at  their  oar, 
Consent  to  work,  in  prospect  of  the  shore : 
But  would  not  work  at  all,  if  not  constrain'd  before. 
That  other  does  not  liberty  constrain, 
But  man  may  either  act  or  may  refrain. 

♦  Thomas  Bradwardin  was  elected  Archbishop  of  Canter- 
bury in  1348.  He  had  the  character  of  a  j^reat  philosopher 
and  mathematician,  and  was  so  eminent  a  divine  as  tu  be 
caUed  Doctor  Profundnx.  Austin,  or  Augustine,  was  the  fir»( 
Ardibishop  ol' Canterbury. 


THE  COCK  AND  THB  FOX. 


135 


Heaven  made  us  agents  free  to  good  or  ill, 
And  forced  it  not,  though  he  foresaw  the  will. 
Freedom  was  first  bestow'd  on  human  race, 
And  prescience  only  held  the  second  piace. 

If  he  could  make  such  agents  wholly  free. 
I  not  dispute ;  the  point's  too  high  for  me : 
For  Heaven's  unfathom'  1  power  what  mfan  caa 
sound. 

Or  put  to  his  Omnipotence  a  bound  ? 

He  made  us  to  his  image,  all  agree  ; 

That  image  is  the  soul,  and  that  must  be 

Or  not  the  Maker's  image,  or  be  free. 
But  whether  it  were  better  man  had  beep 

By  nature  bound  to  good,  not  free  to  sin, 

I  waive,  for  fear  of  splitting  on  a  rock. 

The  tale  I  tell  is  only  of  a  cock ; 

Who  had  not  run  the  hazard  of  his  life. 

Had  he  believed  his  dream,  and  not  his  wife : 

For  women,  with  a  mischief  to  their  kind, 

Pervert,  with  bad  advice,  our  better  mind. 

A  woman's  counsel  brought  us  first  to  woe, 

And  made  her  man  his  Paradise  forego, 

Where  at  heart's  ease  he  lived  ;  and  might  have  l>een 
I    As  free  from  sorrow  as  he  was  from  sin. 
I     For  what  the  devil  had  their  sex  to  do, 

That,  born  to  folly,  they  presumed  to  know, 

And  could  not  see  the  serpent  in  the  grass  ? 

But  I  myself  presume,  and  let  it  pass. 
*  Silence  in  times  of  suffering  is  the  best, 

'Tis  dangerous  to  disturb  a  hornet's  nest. 

In  other  authors  you  may  find  enough. 

But  all  they  say  of  dames  is  idle  stiiff,  _ 


136 


FABLES. 


Legends  of  Ij'ing  wits  together  bound, 
The  wife  of  Bath  would  throw  them  to  the  ground.* 
These  are  the  words  of  Chanticleer,  not  mine, 
r  honour  dames,  and  think  their  sex  d'vii>e. 

Now  to  continue  what  niy  tale  begur;  : 
Lay  madam  Partlet  basking  in  the  sun, 
Hreast  high  in  sand  :  her  sisters  in  a  row, 
Enjoy'd  the  beams  above,  the  warmth  Ijelow, 
The  cock,  that  of  his  fles.h  was  ever  free, 
Rung  merrier  than  the  mermaid  in  the  sea : 
And  so  befell  that,  as  he  cast  his  eye 
Among  the  cole  worts  on  a  butterflj', 
He  saw  false  Reynard,  where  he  lay  full  low, 
I  need  not  swear  he  had  no  list  to  cr6w : 
But  cried,  '  Cock,  cock  !*  and  gave  a  sudden  start. 
As  sore  dismay'd  and  frighten'd  at  his  heart. 
For  birds  and  beasts,  inform' d  by  nature,  know 
Kinds  opposite  to  theirs,  and  fly  their  foe  : 
\o  Chanticleer,  who  never  saw  a  fox, 
Sfet  shunn'd  hiui  as  a  sailor  shuns  the  rocks. 

But  the  false  loon,  who  could  not  work  his  will 
By  open  force,  employ'd  his  flattering  skill  ; 
*  I  hope,  my, lord,'  said  he,  *  I  not  offend ; 
Are  you  afraid  of  me,  that  am  your  friend  ? 
I  were  a  beast  indeed  to  do  you  vrrong, 
I,  who  have  loved  and  honour' d  you  so  long : 
Stay,  gentle  sir,  nor  take  a  false  alarm, 
For,  on  my  soul,  I  never  meant  you  harm. 
I  come  no  spy,  nor  as  a  traitor  press 
To  learn  the  secrets  of  your  soft  recess  : 
Far  be  from  Reynard  so  profane  a  thought, 
But  hj  the  sweetness  of  your  voice  was  brought : 


THE  COCK  AND  THE  FOX. 


For,  as  I  bid  my  beads,  by  chance  I  heard 
The  song  as  of  an  angel  in  the  yard  : 
A  song  that  would  have  charm'd  th'  infernal  godsi 
And  banish'd  horror  from  the  dark  abodes  : 
Had  Orpheus  sung  it  in  the  nether  sphere, 
So  much  the  hymn  had  pleased  the  tyrant's  ear, 
The  wife  had  been  detain' d,  to  keep  the  husband 
there. 

*  My  lord,  your  sire  familiarly  I  knew, 
A  peer  deserving  such  a  son  as  you  : 

He,  with  your  lad}'- mother  (whom  Heaven  rest !) 
Has  often  graced  my  house,  and  been  my  guest. 
To  view  his  living  features  does  me  good. 
For  I  am  your  poor  neighbour  in  the  wood  ; 
And  in  my  cottage  should  be  proud  to  see 
The  worthy  heir  of  my  friend's  family. 

*  But  since  I  speak  of  singing,  let  me  say. 
As  with  an  upright  heart  I  safely  may, 

xhat,  save  yourself,  there  breathes  not  on  the 
ground. 

One  like  your  father  for  a  silver  sound. 
So  sweetly  would  he  wake  the  winter  day 
That  matrons  to  the  church  mistook  their  way, 
And  thought  they  heard  the  merry  organ  play. 
And  he,  to  raise  his  voice  with  artful  care, 
(What  will  not  beaux  attempt  to  please  the  fair  ?) 
On  tiptoe  stood  to  sing  with  greater  strength. 
And  strctch'd  his  comely  neck  at  all  the  length  : 
And  while  he  strain'd  his  voice  to  pierce  the  skies, 
As  saints  in  rapture  use,  would  shut  his  eyes, 
That  the  sound  striving  through  the  narrow  throat. 
His  winking  might  avail,  to  mend  the  note. 


138 


FABLES. 


By  this,  in  song,  he  never  had  his  peer, 
From  sweet  Cecilia  down  to  Chanticleer  ; 
Not  Maro's  muse  who  sung  '*  tne  mighty  man," 
Nor  Pmdar's  heavenly  lyre,  nor  Horace  when  a 
swan. 

Your  ancestors  proceed  from  race  divine, 
From  Brennus  and  Belinus  is  )'our  line, 
Who  gave  to  sovereign  Rome  such  loud  alarms 
That  e'en  the  priests  were  not  excused  from  arms. 

*  Besides,  a  famous  monk*  of  modern  times, 
Has  left  of  cocks  recorded  in  his  rhymes, 
That  of  a  parish  priest  the  son  and  heir 
(When  sons  of  priests  were  from  the  proverb  cleai)j 
Affronted  once  a  cock  of  noble  kind, 
And  either  lamed  his  legs  or  struck  him  blind  ; 
For  which  the  clerk  his  father  was  disgraced. 
And  in  his  benefice  another  placed. 
Now  sing,  my  lord,  if  not  for  love  of  me, 
Yet  for  the  sake  of  sweet  saint  Charity  ; 
Make  hills  and  dales,  and  earth  and  heaven  rejoice, 
Aiid  emulate  your  father's  angel  voice.' 

The  cock  was  pleased  to  hear  him  speak  so  fair. 
And  proud  beside,  as  solar  people  are  : 
Nor  could  the  treason  from  the  truth  descry, 
So  was  he  ravish 'd  with  this  flattery  : 
So  much  the  more,  as,  from  a  little  elf. 
He  had  a  high  opinion  of  himself : 
Though  sickly,  slender,  and  not  large  of  limb  ; 
Concludmg  all  the  world  was  made  for  him, 

Se  princes  raised  by  poets  to  the  gods. 
And  Alexander' d  up  in  lying  odes, 

*  Nigelius  Wireker,  in  Speeulain  Stult0nkm. 


I  THE  COCK  AND  THE  FOX,  13D 

j   Believe  not  every  flattering  knave's  report, 
'   There's  many  a  Reynard  lurking  in  the  court ; 
And  he  shall  be  received  with  more  regard, 
And  listen'd  to,  than  modest  truth  is  heard. 

This  Chanticleer,  of  whom  the  story  sings, 
Stood  high  upon  his  toes,  and  clapp'd  his  wings  • 
Then  stretch'd  his  neck,  and  wink'd  with  both  his 
Ambitious,  as  he  sought  th'  Olympic  prize.  [eyes, 
But  while  he  pain'd  himself  to  raise  his  note. 
False  Reynard  rush'd,  and  caught  him      *he  throat : 
Then  on  his  back  he  laid  the  precious  loJwJ, 
And  sought  his  wonted  shelter  of  the  wood  ; 
Swiftly  he  made  his  way,  the  mischief  done. 
Of  all  unheeded,  and  pursued  by  none. 

Alas  !  what  stay  is  there  in  human  state, 
Or  who  can  shun  inevitable  fate  ? 
The  doom  was  written,  the  decree  was  pass'd. 
Ere  the  foundations  of  the  world  were  cast  I 
In  Aries  though  the  sun  exalted  stood, 
His  patron  planet  to  procure  his  good  ; 
Yet  Saturn  was  his  mortal  foe,  and  he 
In  Libra  raised,  opposed  the  same  degree  : 
T?ie  rays  both  good  and  bad,  of  equal  power. 
Each  thwarting  other,  made  a  mingled  hour. 

On  Friday  morn  he  dream' d  this  direful  dream. 
Cross  to  the  worthy  native,  in  his  scheme  ; 
Ah  blissful  Venus,  goddess  of  delight. 
How  couldst  thou  suffer  thy  devoted  knight, 
On  thy  own  day  to  fall  by  foe  oppress' d. 
The  wight  of  all  the  world  who  served  thee  best? 
Who,  true  to  love,  was  all  for  recreation, 
And  minded  not  the  work  of  propagatiou. 


FABLBSi. 


Gaufride*,  who  couldit  so  well  in  rhyme  coraplam 
The  death  of  Richard,  with  an  arrow  slain, 
Why  had  not  I  thy  muse,  or  thou  my  heart, 
To  sing  this  heavy  dirge  with  equal  art ! 
That  I  like  thee  of  Friday  might  complain  ; 
For  on  that  day  was  Cceur  de  Lion  slain. 

Not  louder  cries,  when  Ilium  was  in  fl-ames, 
Were  sent  to  heaven  by  woful  Trojan  dames. 
When  Pyrrhus  toss'd  on  high  his  burnish'd  blade 
And  offer'd  Priam  to  his  father's  shade, 
Than  for  the  cock  the  widow*d  poultry  made. 
Fair  Partlct  first,  when  he  was  borne  from  sight, 
With  sovereign  shrieks  bewail' d  her  captive  knight. 
For  louder  than  the  Carthaginian  wife, 
When  Asdrubal,  her  husband,  lost  his  life  ; 
When  she  beheld  the  smouldering  flames  ascend. 
And  all  the  Punic  glories  at  an  end  : 
Willing  into  the  fires  she  plunged  her  head, 
With  greater  ease  than  others  seek  their  bed. 
Not  more  aghast  the  matrons  of  renown. 
When  tyrant  Nero  burn'd  th'  imperial  town, 
Shriek' d  for  the  dov,-nfal  in  a  doleful  cry. 
For  which  their  guiltless  lords  were  doom'd  to  die. 

Now  to  my  story  I  return  again  : 
The  trembling  widow,  and  her  daughters  twain, 
This  wofui  cackling  cry  with  horror  heard, 
Of  these  distracted  damsels  in  the  yard  ; 
And  starting  up  beheld  the  heavy  sight, 
How  Reynard  to  the  forest  took  his  flight, 
And  cross  his  back,  as  in  triumphant  scorn, 
The  hope  and  pillar  of  the  house  was  borne. 

*  Or  GcolFrey  de  Vinsauf,  a  Norman  historian. 


THE  COCK  AND  TUE  FOX. 


141 


*  The  fox,  the  wicked  fox  !'  was  all  the  cry  ; 
Out  from  his  house  ran  every  neighbour  nigh  : 
The  vicar  first,  and  after  him  the  crew, 
With  forks  and  staves  the  felon  to  pursue. 
Ran  Coll  our  dog,  and  Talbot  with  the  band, 
And  aialkin,  v/ith  her  distaft"  in  her  hand  : 
Ran  cow  and  calf,  and  family  of  hogs, 
In  panic  horror  of  pursuing  dogs, 
Wfcth  many  a  deadly  grunt  and  doleful  squeak, 
Poor  swine  !  as  if  their  pretty  hearts  would  break* 
The  shouts  of  men,  the  women  in  dismay, 
With  shrieks  augment  the  terror  of  the  day. 
The  ducks  that  heard  the  proclamation  cried, 
And  fear'd  a  persecution  might  betide, 
Full  twenty  miles  from  town  their  voyage  take, 
Obscure  in  rushes  of  the  liquid  lake. 
The  geese  fly  o'er  the  barn  ;  the  bees  in  arms 
Drive  headlong  from  the  waxen  cells  in  swarms. 
Jack  Straw,  at  London -stone,  with  all  his  rout. 
Struck  not  the  city  with  so  loud  a  shout : 
Not  when  with  English  hate  they  did  pursue 
A  Frenchman,  or  an  unbelieving  Jew  : 
Not  when  the  welkin  rung  with  '  ose  and  all 
And  echoes  bounded  back  from  Fox's  hall ; 
Earth  scem'd  to  sink  beneath,  and  heaven  above  to 
fall! 

With  might  and  main  they  chased  the  murderou« 
With  brazen  trumpets,  and  inflated  box,  [foy, 
To  kindle  Mars  with  military  sounds  ; 
Nor  wanted  horns  t'  inspire  sagacious  hounds, 
But  see  how  fortune  can  confound  the  wise, 
And,  when  they  least  expect  it  turn  the  dice. 


142 


FABLES* 


The  captive  cock,  who  scarce  could  draw  his  breath| 

And  lay  within  the  very  jaws  of  death  ; 

Yet  in  his  agony  this  fancy  Vvrought, 

And  fear  supphed  him  with  this  happy  thought: 

*  Yours  is  the  prize,  victorious  prince  !'  said  he, 

*  The  vicar  my  defeat,  and  all  the  village  see. 
Enjoy  your  friendly  fortune  while  you  may, 
And  bid  the  churls,  that  envy  you  the  prey, 

Call  back  their  niungrel  curs,  and  cease  their  cry  • 
See,  fools,  the  shelter  of  the  wood  is  nigh, 
And  Chanticleer  in  your  despite  shall  die  : 
He  shall  be  plucked  and  eaten  to  the  bone.' 
'  'Tis  well  advised  ;  in  faith  it  shall  be  done  I* 
rhus  Reynard  said  :  but,  as  the  word  he  spoke, 
The  prisoner  with  a  spring  from  prison  broke  : 
Then  stretch' d  his  feather' d  fans  with  all  his  might, 
And  to  the  neighbouring  maple  wing'd  his  flight. 
Whom  when  the  traitor  safe  on  tree  beheld. 
He  cursed  the  gods,  with  shame  and  sorrow  fill'd ; 
Bhame  for  his  folly,  sorrow  out  of  time, 
For  plotting  an  unprofitable  crime  : 
Yet  mastering  both,  th'  artificer  oi  lies 
Renews  th'  assault,  and  his  last  battery  tries. 
*  Though  I,'  said  he,  '  did  ne'ef  in  thought 
offend, 

How  justly  may  my  lord  suspect  his  friend  1 
Th'  appearance  is  against  me,  I  confess. 
Who  seemingly  have  put  you  in  distress  : 
You,  if  your  goodness  does  not  plead  my  cause, 
Jlay  think  I  broke  all  hospitable  laws. 
To  bear  you  from  your  palace  yard  by  might. 
And  put  your  noble  person  in  a  fright : 


THE  COCK  AND  THE  FOX.  141 

This,  since  you  take  it  ill,  I  must  repent ; 
Though  heaven  can  witness,  with  no  bad  intent ; 
I  practised  it,  to  make  you  taste  your  cheer 
With  double  pleasure,  first  prepared  by  fear. 
So  loyal  subjects  often  seize  their  prince, 
Forced  (for  his  good)  to  seeming  \-iolence, 
Yet  mean  his  sacred  person  not  the  least  offence. 
Descend  ;  so  help  me  Jove  !  as  you  shall  find 
That  Reynard  comes  of  no  dissembling  kind.' 

*  Nay,'  quoth  the  cock,  *  but  I  beshre>w  us  both. 
If  I  believe  a  saint  upon  his  oath  : 
An  honest  man  may  take  a  knave's  advice, 
But  idiots  only  may  be  cozen'd  twice. 
Once  warn'd  is  well  bewared  :  not  flattering  lies 
Shall  sooth  me  more  to  sing  with  winking  eyes 
And  open  mouth,  for  fear  of  catching  flies. 
Who  blindfold  walks  upon  a  river's  brim, 
When  he  should  see,  has  he  deserved  to  swim  ?' 
'  Better,  sir  cock,  let  all  contention  cease  ; 
Come  down,*  said  Reynard,  *  let  us  treat  of  peace.' 
^  A  peace,  with  all  my  soul,'  said  Chanticleer  ; 
*  But,  with  your  favour,  I  will  treat  it  here  : 
And,  lest  the  truce  with  treason  should  be  mix'd, 
*Ti«  my  concern  to  have  the  tree  betwixt.* 


!4« 


FABLES. 


THE  MORAL. 

In  this  plain  fable  you  ch*  effect  may  see 

Of  negligence  and  fond  credulity  : 

And  learn  besides  of  flatterers  to  beware, 

Then  most  pernicious  when  they  speak  too  fair* 

The  cock  and  fox  the  fool  and  knave  imply  ; 

The  truth  is  moral,  though  the  tale  a  lie. 

Who  spoke  in  parables,  I  dare  not  say  ; 

But  sure  he  knew  it  was  a  pleasing  way, 

Sound  sense  by  plain  example  to  convey. 

And  in  a  heathen  author  we  may  find, 

That  pleaeure  with  instruction  should  be  joia*d| 

So  take  the  corn,  and  leave  the  chaff  behind. 


THEODORE  AND  HONORIA, 


Of  all  the  cities  in  Romanian  lands, 
The  chief  and  m/)st  renown'd  Ravenna  stands : 
Adorn'd  in  ancient  times  with  arms  an.d  arts, 
And  rich  inhabitants,  with  generous  hearts. 
But  Theodore  the  brave,  above  the  rest 
With  gifts  of  fortune  and  of  nature  bless'd, 
The  foremost  place  for  wealth  and  honour  held, 
And  all  in  feats  of  chivalry  excell'd. 

This  noble  youth  to  madness  loved  a  dame 
Of  high  degree,  Honoria  was  her  name  : 
Fair  as  the  fairest,  but  of  haxghty  mind, 
And  fiercer  than  became  so  soft  a  kind  ; 
Proud  of  her  birth  (for  equal  she  had  none), 
The  rest  she  scorn'd  ;  but  hated  him  alone. 
His  gifts,  his  constant  courtship  nothing  gain'd; 
For  she,  the  more  he  loved,  the  more  disdain'd: 
He  lived  with  all  the  pomp  he  could  devise, 
At  tilts  and  tournaments  obtain' d  the  prize, 
But  found  no  favour  in  his  lady's  eye&  ; 
Relentless  as  a  rock,  the  lofty  maid 
Turn'd  all  to  poison  that  he  did  or  said: 
L 


140 


FABLES. 


Nor  prayers,  nor  tears,  nor  offer' d  vows  could  more ; 
The  work  went  backward ;  and  the  more  he  strove 
T*  advance  his  suit,  the  further  from  her  love. 

Wearied  at  length,  and  wanting  remedy, 
He  doubted  oft,  and  oft  resolved  to  die. 
But  pride  stood  ready  to  prevent  the  blow  ; 
For  who  would  die  to  gratify  a  foe  ? 
His  generous  mind  disdain'd  so  mean  a  fate  ; 
That  pass'd,  his  next  endeavour  was  to  hate. 
15ut  vainer  that  relief  than  all  the  rest, 
The  less  he  hoped,  with  more  desire  possessed; 
Love  stood  the  siege,  and  would  not  yield  his  breast. 
Change  was  the  next,  but  change  deceived  his  care  ; 
He  sought  a  fairer,  but  found  none  so  fair. 
He  would  have  worn  her  out  by  slow  degrees, 
As  men  by  fasting  starve  th'  untamed  disease  : 
But  present  love  required  a  present  ease. 
Looking,  he  feeds  alone  his  famish' d  eyes, 
Feeds  lingering  death  ;  but  looking  not,  he  dies. 
Yet  still  he  chose  the  longest  way  to  fate, 
Wasting  at  once  his  life  and  his  estate. 

His  friends  beheld,  and  pitied  him  in  vain  ; 
For  what  advice  can  ease  a  lover's  pain  ! 
Absence,  the  best  expedient  they  could  find, 
Might  save  the  fortune,  if  not  cure  the  mind  : 
This  means  they  long  proposed,  but  little  gain'd; 
Yet  after  much  pursuit,  at  length  obtain'd. 

Hard  you  may  think  it  was  to  give  consent, 
But,  struggling  with  his  own  desires  he  went: 
With  large  expense,  and  with  a  pompous  trsufli 
Provided,  as  to  visit  Fi'auce  or  Spain, 
Or  for  some  distant  voyage  o'er  the  main. 


THEODORE  AND  HONORIA. 


147 


But  love  had  clipp'd  his  wings,  and  cut  him  short ; 
Confined  within  the  purlieus  of  his  court : 
Throe  miles  he  went,  no  farther  could  retreat : 
His  travels  ended  at  his  country  seat. 
To  Chassis'  pleasing  plains  he  took  his  way, 
There  pitch'd  his  tents,  and  there  resolved  to  stay. 
The  spring  was  in  the  prime ;  the  neighbouring 
grove 

Supplied  with  birds,  the  choristers  of  love  ; 

Music  unbought,  that  minister'd  delight 

To  morning  wj^lks,  and  luU'd  his  cares  by  night. 

There  he  discharged  his  friends  ;  but  not  th'  expense 

Of  frequent  treats,  and  proud  magnificence. 

He  lived  as  kings  retire,  though  more  at  large 

From  public  business,  yet  with  equal  charge  ; 

With  house  and  heart  still  open  to  receive  ; 

As  well  content  as  love  would  give  him  leave  : 

He  would  have  lived  more  free  ;  but  many  a  guest, 

Who  could  forsake  the  friend,  pursued  the  feast. 

It  happ'd  one  morning,  as  his  fancy  led, 
Before  his  usual  hour  he  left  his  bed. 
To  walk  within  a  lonely  lawn,  that  stood 
On  every  side  surrotinded  by  the  wood  : 
Alone  he  walk'd,  to  please  his  pensive  mind, 
And  sought  the  deepest  solitude  to  find : 
'Twas  in  a  grove  of  spreading  pines  he  stray'd : 
The  winds  within  the  quivering  branches  play'd^ 
And  dancing  trees  a  mournful  music  made. 
The  place  itself  was  suiting  to  his  care, 
Uncouth  and  savage  as  the  cruel  fair. 
He  wander'd  on,  unknowing  where  he  went, 
Lost  in  the  wood,  and  all  on  love  intent. 

L  2 


148 


VABLES. 


The  day  already  half  his  race  had  ran. 
And  summon' d  him  to  due  repast  at  noon 
But  love  could  feel  no  hunger  but  his  own. 

Whilst  listening  to  the  murmjirincj  leaves  itt 
stood, 

More  than  a  mile  immersed  within  the  wood, 
At  once  the  wind  was  laid  ;  the  whisperina:  sound 
Was  dumb  :  a  rising  earthquake  rock'd  the  ground  1 
With  deeper  brown  the  grave  was  or erspread : 
A  sudden  horror  seized  his  giddy  head, 
And  his  ears  tinkled,  and  his  colour  fled. 
Nature  vras  in  alarm  ;  some  danger  nfgh 
Seem'd  threatened,  though  unseen  to  mortal  eye. 
Unused  to  fear,  he  sumnion'd  all  his  soul, 
And  stood  collected  in  himself,  and  whole  ; 
Not  long  ;  for  soon  a  whirlwind  rose  around. 
And  from  afar  he  heard  a  screaming  sound, 
As  of  a  dame  distress'd,  who  cried  for  aid, 
And  fiU'd  with  loud  laments  the  secret  shorde, 
A  thicket  close  beside  the  grove  there  stood. 
With  briers  and  brambles  choked,  and  dwarfish 
wood  : 

From  thence  the  noise,  w^iich  now  approaching  rear^ 
With  more  distinguish' d  notes  invades  his  ear. 
He  raised  his  head,  and  saw  a  beauteous  maid, 
With  hair  dishevel' d,  issuing  through  the  shade  : 
Stripp'd  of  her  clothes,  and  e'en  those  parts  reveal'd 
Which  modest  nature  keeps  from  sight  conceal' d. 
Her  face,  her  hands,  her  naked  limbs  were  torn. 
With  passing  through  the  brakes  and  prickly  thorn  : 
Two  mastiffs  gaunt  and  grim  her  flight  pursued, 
And  oft  their  fasten' d  fangs  in  blood  imbrued ; 


TUEODORE  AND  H0N6R1A.  li§ 

Oft  they  came  up,  and  pinch' d  her  tender  side, 

*  Mcpcy,  O,  mercy,  Heaven  !'  she  ran  and  cried  ; 
When  Heaven  was  named,  they  loosed  their  hold 

again  ; 

Then  sprung  she  forth,  they  followed  her  amai^i. 

Not  far  behind,  a  knight  of  swarthy  face, 
High  on  a  coal-black  steed  pursued  the  chase  ; 
"With  flashing  flames  his  ardent  eyes  were  fiU'd* 
And  in  his  hands  a  naked  sword  he  held  : 
He  cheer' d  the  dogs  to  follow  her  who  fled, 
And  vow'd  revenge  on  her  devoted  head. 

As  Theodore  was  born  of  noble  kind, 
The  brutal  action  roused  his  manly  mind  : 
Moved  with  unworthy  usage  of  the  maid, 
He,  though  unarm'd,  resolved  to  give  her  aid. 
A  sapling  pine  he  wrench' d  from  out  the  ground, 
The  readiest  weapon  that  his  fury  found. 
Thus  furnish' d  for  offence,  he  cross' d  the  way 
Betwixt  the  graceless  villain  and  his  prey. 

The  knight  came  thundering  on,  but  from  afar, 
Thus,  in  imperious  tone,  forbad  the  war : 

*  Cease,  The->dore,  to  profiler  vain  relief, 
Nor  stop  the  vengeance  of  so  just  a  grief: 
But  give  me  leave  to  seize  my  destined  p^ev. 
And  let  Eternal  Justice  take  the  way  ! 

1  but  revenge  my  fate  ;  disdain'd,  betray'd. 
And  suffering  death  for  this  ungrateful  maid.* 

He  said  ;  at  once  dismounting  from  the  steed  ; 
For  now  the  hell-hounds,  with  superior  speed, 
Had  reach 'd  the  dame  ;  and  fastening  on  iier  side. 
The  ground  >vith  issuing  streams  ot  Durple  dyed. 


150 


FABLES. 


Stood  Theodore  surprised  in  deadly  fright, 
With  chattering  teeth  and  brrstling  hair  ujtright ; 
Yet  arm'd  with  inborn  worth,  *  Whate'e?/  said  he, 
*  Thou  art,  who  know'st  me  better  than  *  thee  ; 
Or  prove  thy  rightful  cause,  or  be  defiec'  l' 
The  spectre,  fiercely  staring,  thu's  replied  :— 

*  Know,  Theodore,  thy  ancestry  I  claim, 
And  Guido  Cavalcanti  was  my  name  : 
One  common  sire  our  fathers  did  beget ; 
"hly  name  and  story  some  remember  yet. 
Thee,  when  a  boy,  within  my  arms  I  laid, 
When,  for  my  sins,  I  loved  this  haughty  maid  ; 
Not  less  adored  in  life,  nor  served  by  me, 
Than  proud  Honoria  now  is  loved  by  thee. 
What  did  I  not  her  stubborn  heart  to  gain  ? 
But  all  my  vows  were  answer'd  with  disdain  ; 
She  scorn'd  my  sorrows,  and  despised  my  pain. 
Long  time  I  dragg'd  my  days  in  fruitless  care ; 
Then  loathing  life,  and  plunged  in  deep  despair, 
To  finish  my  unhappy  life,  I  fell 
On  this  sharp  sword,  and  now  am  dam»M  in  hell. 
Short  was  her  joy  ;  for  soon  th'  insulting  maid. 
By  Heaven's  decree,  in  the  cold  grave  was  laid  ; 
And  as  in  unrepented  sin  she  died,  [pride  j 

Doom'd  to  the  same  bad  place,  is  punish' d  for  her 
Because  she  deem'd  I  well  deserved  to  die, 
And  made  a  merit  of  her  cruelty. 
There,  then,  we  met ;  both  tried,  and  both  vf  ere  cast, 
And  this  irrevocable  sentence  pass'd  ; 
That  she  whom  I  so  long  ])ursued  in  vain 
Should  suff"er  from  my  hands  a  lingering  pain : 


THSODOUE  AN»  HONORIA. 


ISi 


Benew'd  to  life,  that  she  might  daily  die, 
I  daily  dooni'd  to  follow,  she  to  fly  : 
No  more  a  lover,  but  a  mortal  foe, 
I  seek  her  life  (for  love  is  none  Ijclow), 
As  often  as  ray  dogs  with  better  speed 
Arrest  her  flight,  is  she  to  death  decreed. 
Then  with- this  fatal  sword,  on  which  I  died, 
I  pierce  her  open'd  back  or  tender  side, 
And  tear  that  harden 'd  heart  from  out  her  breast  J 
Which,  with  her  entrails,  makes  my  hungry  houndi 
a  feast. 

Nor  lies  she  long,  but  as  her  fates  ordain, 

Springs  up  to  life,  and  fresh  to  second  pain, 

Is  saved  to-day,  to-morrow  to  be  slain.' 

This,  versed  in  death,  the  infernal  knight  relates, 

And  then  for  proof,  fulfill' d  their  common  fates  j 

Her  heart  and  bowels  through  her  back  he  drew, 

And  fed  the  hounds  that  help'd  him  to  pursue. 

Stern  look'd  the  fiend,  as  frustrate  of  his  will, 

Not  half  sufficed,  and  greedy  yet  to  kill. 

And  now  the  soul  expiring  through  the  wound, 

Had  left  the  body  breathless  on  the  ground. 

When  thus  the  grisly  spectre  spoke  again  j 

*  Behold  the  fruit  of  ill  rewarded  pain  ! 

As  many  months  as  I  sustain'd  her  hate, 

So  many  years  is  she  condemned  by  fate 

To  daily  death    and  every  several  place, 

Conscious  of  her  disdain  and  my  disgrace, 

Must  witness  her  just  punishment  and  be 

A  scene  of  triumph  and  revenge  to  me. 

As  in  this  grove  I  took  my  lasjt  farewell, 

As  on  this  very  spot  of  earth  I  fell, 


1S2 


FABLES. 


As  Frid.'\y  saw  me  die  ;  so  she  my  prey 
Becomes  even  here,  on  this  revolving  day.' 

Thus  while  he  spoke,  the  virgin  from  the  ground 
Upstarted  fresh,  already  closed  the  v/ound  ; 
And  unconcern'd  for  all  she  felt  before, 
Precipitates  her  flight  along  the  shore  : 
The  hell-hounds,  as  ungorged  with  flesh  and  blood, 
Pursue  their  prey,  and  seek  their  wonted  food  : 
The  fiend  remounts  his  courser  ;  mends  his  pace, 
And  all  the  vision  vanish' d  from  the  place. 

Long  stood  the  noble  youth  oppressed  with  awe, 
And  stupid  at  the  wondrous  things  he  saw, 
Surpassing  common  fakh,  transgressing  nature*i 
law. 

He  v/ould  have  been  asleep,  and  vvish'd  to  wake  ; 
But  dreams,  he  knew,  no  long  impression  make, 
Though  strong  at  first :  if  vision,  to  what  end, 
But  such  as  must  his  future  state  portend  ? 
His  love  the  damsel,  L,nd  himself  the  fiend. 
But  yet,  reflecting  that  it  could  not  be 
From  Heaven,  which  cannot  impious  acts  decree, 
Resolved  within  himself  to  shun  the  snare 
"Which  hell  for  his  destruction  did  prepare  j 
And  as  his  better  genius  should  direct. 
From  an  ill  cause  to  draw  a  good  eff^cct. 

Inspired  from  Heaven,  he  homeward  took  hit 
way, 

Nor  pall'd  his  new  design  with  long  delay 
But  of  his  train  a  trusty  servant  sent 
To  call  his  friends  together  at  his  tent. 
They  came  ;  and  usual  salutations  paid, 
With  words  premeditated,  thus  he  said  i 


THBODOKK  AND  BOXORIA.      7  153 

*  Wkat  you  have  often  counsel' d,  to  remove 
My  vain  pursuit  of  unregarded  bve  ; 
By  thrift  my  sinking  fortune  to  repair, 
Though  late,  yet  is  at  last  become  my  care  : 
My  heart  shall  be  my  own  ;  my  vast  expense 
Reduced  to  bounds,  by  timely  providence  ; 
This  only  I  require  ;  invite  for  me 
Honoria,  with  her  father's  family, 
Her  friends,  and  mine  ;  the  cause  I  shall  display 
On  Friday  next,  for  that's  th'  appointed  day.' 

Well  pleased  were  all  his  friends  ;  the  task  was 
The  father,  mother,  daughter,  they  invite  ;     [light ; 
Hardly  the  dame  was  drawn  to  this  repast ; 
But  yet  resolved,  because  it  was  the  last. 
The  day  was  come,  the  guests  invited  came, 
And,  with  the  rest,  th'  inexorable  dame  ; 
A  feast  prepared  with  riotous  expense, 
Much  cost,  more  care,  and  most  magnificence. 
The  place  ordain' d  was  in  that  haunted  grove 
Where  the  revenging  ghost  pursued  his  love  : 
The  tables  in  a  proud  pavillion  spread, 
With  flowers  below,  and  tissue  over  head  : 
The  rest  in  rank  ;  Honoria,  chief  in  place, 
Was  artfully  contrived  to  set  her  face 
To  front  the  thicket,  and  behold  the  chase. 
The  feast  was  served ;  the  time  so  well  forecast, 
That  just  when  the  desert  and  fruits  were  placed, 
The  fiend's  alarm  began  ;  the  hollow  sound 
Sung  in  the  leaves,  the  forest  shook  around, 
Air  blacken 'd  ;  roU'd  the  thunder  ;   groan'd  the 

Nor  long  before  the  loud  laments  arise,  [ground. 
Of  one  distress' d,  and  mastiffs'  mingled  cries ; 


154 


FABLES. 


And  first  the  dame  came  rushing  through  the  wood, 
And  next  the  famish'd  hounds  that  sought  their  food. 
And  griped  her  flanks,  and  oft  as  jay'd  their  jaws  in 
blood. 

liast  came  the  felon  on  his  sable  steed,  [speed. 
Arm'd  with  his  naked  sword,  and  urged  his  dogs  to 
She  ran,  and  cried;  her  flight  directly  bent 
(A  guest  unbidden)  to  the  fatal  tent,  [ment. 
The  scene  of  death,  and  place  ordain'd  for  punish- 
Loud  was  the  noise,  aghast  was  every  guest, 
The  women  shriek'd,  the  men  forsook  the  feast ; 
The  hounds  at  nearer  distance  hoarsely  bay'd  ; 
The  hunter  close  pursued  the  visionary  maid :  [aid. 
She  rent  the  heaven  with  loud  laments ,t imploring 

The  gallants,  to  protect  the  lady's  right, 
Their  falchions  brandish'd  at  the  grisly  sprite : 
High  on  his  stirrups  he  provoked  the  fight. 
Then  on  the  crowd  he  cast  a  furious  look, 
And  wither* d  all  their  strength  before  he  strook : 
*  Back,  on  your  lives  !  let  be,'  said  he,  *  my  prey^ 
And  let  my  vengeance  take  the  destmed  way. 
Vain  are  your  arms,  and  vainer  your  defence, 
Against  th'  eternal  doom  of  Providence  : 
Mine  is  th'  ungrateful  maid  by  Heaven  design'd  : 
Mercy  she  would  not  give,  nor  mercy  shall  she  find  J 
At  this  the  former  tale  again  he  told 
With  thundering  tone,  and  dreadful  to  behold. 
Sunk  were  their  hearts  with  horror  of  the  crime, 
Nor  needed  to  be  warn'd  a  second  time, 
But  bore  each  other  back  ;  some  knew  the  face, 
And  all  had  heard  the  much  lamented  case 
Of  him  who  fell  for  love,  and  this  the  fatal  placto 


THEODORE  AND  HONORIA. 


155 


And  now  the  infernal  minist-er  advanced, 
Seized  the  due  victim,  and  with  fury  lanced 
Her  back,  and  piercing  through  her  inmost  heart, 
Drew  backward,  as  before,  th'  offending  part. 
The  reeking  eutrails  next  he  tore  away, 
And  to  his  meagre  mastiffs  made  a  prey  : 
The  pale  assistants  on  each  other  stared, 
With  gaping  mouths  for  issuing  words  prepared  ; 
The  still  born  sounds  upon  tl/e  palate  himg, 
And  died  imperfect  on  the  faltering  tongue. 
I    The  fright  was  general ;  but  the  female  band 
I    (A  helpless  train)  in  more  confusion  stand  ; 
I    With  horror  shuddering,  on  a  heap  they  run. 
Sick  at  the  sight  of  hateful  justice  done  ; 
For  conscience  rung  the  alarm,  and  made  tl-ie  case 
their  own. 

So,  spread  upon  a  lake,  with  upward  eye 
A  plump  of  fowl  behold  their  foe  on  high  ; 
They  close  their  trembling  troop,  and  all  attend 
On  whom  the  sousing  eagle  will  descend. 
'       But  most  the  proud  Honoria  fear'd  th'  event, 
I    And  thought  to  her  alone  the  vision  sent. 
I    Her  guilt  presents  to  her  distracted  mind 
j    Heaven's  justice,  Theodore's  revengeful  kind, 
I    And  the  same  fate  to  the  same  sin  assigned  ; 
Already  sees  herself  the  monster's  prey, 
And  feels  her  heart  and  entrails  torn  away, 
'Twas  a  mute  scene  of  sorrow,  mix'd  with  fear. 
Still  on  the  table  lay  th'  unfinish'd  cheer  ; 
The  knight  and  hungry  masiiffs  sXood  around. 
The  mangled  dame  lay  breathless  on  the  groun'I  | 


FABLES. 


When  on  a  svulden,  re-inspired  with  breath, 
Again  she  rose,  again  to  suffer  death  ; 
Nor  stay'd  the  hell-hounds,  nor  the  hunter  stay'd, 
But  followM,  as  before,  the  flying  maid ; 
Th'  avenger  took  from  earth  th'  avenging  sword, 
And,  mounting  light  as  air,  his  sable  steed  he 
spurr'd : 

The  clouds  dispell' d,  the  sky  resumed  her  light, 
And  nature  stood  recover'd  of  her  fright. 

Eut  fear,  the  last  of  ills,  remain 'd  behind  ; 
And  horror  heavy  sat  on  every  mind. 
Nor  Theodore  encouraged  more  his  feast, 
But  sternly  look'd,  as  hatching  in  his  breast 
Some  deep  design  ;  which  when  Honoria  viewM, 
The  fresh  impulse  her  former  fright  renew' d  ; 
She  thought  herself  the  trembling  dame  who  fled. 
And  him  the  grisly  ghost  that  spurr'd  the  infernal 
steed : 

The  more  dismay'd,  for  when  the  guests  withdrew, 
Tbeir  courteous  host  saluting  all  the  crew,     [adieu  ! 
Begardless:  pass'd  her  o'er;  nor  graced  with  kind 
That  sting  infix' d  within  her  haughty  mind. 
The  downfal  of  her  empire  she  divined  ; 
And  ber  proud  heart  with  secret  sorrow  pined. 
Home  as  they  went,  the  sad  discourse  renew' d 
Of  the  relentless  dame  to  death  pursued. 
And  of  the  sight  obscene  so  lately  view'd. 
None  durst  arraign  the  righteous  doom  she  bore, 
Even  they  who  pitied  most,  yet  blamed  her  more  i 
The  parallel  they  needed  not  to  name, 
But  in  the  dead  they  damn'd  the  living  dame. 


THEODORB  AND  HONORIA.  157 

At  every  little  noise  she  look'd  behind, 
For  still  the  knight  was  present  to  her  mind : 
And  anxious  oft  she  started  on  the  way, 
And  thought  the  horseman-ghost  came  thundering 

for  his  prey. 
Return' 0,  she  took  her  bed  with  little  rest. 
But  in  short  slumbers  dream' d  the  funerai  feast : 
Awaked,  she  turn'd  her  side,  and  slept  again  ; 
The  same  black  vapours  mounted  in  her  brain, 
And  the  same  dreams  return'd  with  double  pain. 

Now  forced  to  wake,  because  afraid  to  sleep. 
Her  blood  all  fever' d,  with  a  furious  leap 
She  sprung  from  bed,  distracted  in  her  mind  ! 
And  fear'd,  at  every  step,  a  twitching  sprite  behiod. 
Darkling  and  desperate,  with  a  staggering  pace. 
Of  death  afraid,  and  conscious  of  disgrace  ; 
Fear,  pride,  remorse,  at  once  her  heart  assail'd; 
Pride  put  remorse  to  flight,  but  fear  prevail' d. 
Friday,  the  fatal  day,  when  next  it  carae^ 
Her  soul  forethought  the  fiend  would  change  his 
game. 

And  her  pursue,  or  Theodore  be  slain. 
And  two  ghosts  join  their  packs  to  hunt  her  o'er  th« 
plain. 

This  dreadful  image  so  possess 'd  her  mind 
That,  desperate  any  succour  else  to  find. 
She  ceased  all  further  hope  ;  and  now  began 
To  make  reflection  on  th'  unhappy  man : 
Rich,  brave,  and  young,  who  past  expression  loved. 
Proof  to  disdain,  and  not  to  be  removed  ; 
Of  all  the  men  respected  and  admired, 
Of  all  the  dames,  except  herself,  desired. 


2S8 


FABLES. 


Why  not  of  her  ?  preferr'd  above  the  rcAt     [fess'd  ? 
By  him  with  knightly  deeds,  and  open  love  pro- 
So  had  another  been,  where  he  his  vows  address' d. 
This  q-uell'd  her  pri.ile  ;  yet  other  doubts  remained. 
That  once  disdaining,  she  might  be  disdain'd. 
The  fear  was  just ;  but  greater  fear  prevail'd, 
Fear  of  her  hfe  by  hellish  hounds  assail' d  ; 
He  took  a  louring  leave  ;  but  who  can  tell, 
\Vhat  outward  hate  might  inward  love  conceal  ? 
Her  sex's  arts  she  knew,  and  why  not,  then, 
Might  deep  dissembling  have  a  place  in  men  ? 
Here  hope  begaa  to  dawn  ;  resolved  to  try, 
She  fix'd  012  this  her  utmost  remedy  ; 
Death  was  behind,  but  hard  it  was  to  die. 
'Twas  time  enough  at  last  on  death  to  call, 
The  precipice  in  sight :  a  shrub  w  as  all 
That  kindly  stood  betwixt  to  break  the  fatal  fall. 

One  maid  she  had,  beloved  above  the  rest ; 
Secure  of  her,  the  secret  she  confess'd: 
And  now  the  cheerftil  light  her  fears  dispell' d, 
She  with  no  winding  turns  the  truth  conceal'd, 
But  put  the  woman  off,  and  stood  reveal* d  : 
With  faults  confess'd,  commission 'd  her  to  go, 
If  pity  yet  had  place,  and  reconcile  her  foe. 
The  welcome  message  made,  was  soon  received  ; 
'Twas  what  he  wish'd  and  hoped,  but  scarce  b* 
lieved ; 

Fate  seem'd  a  fair  occasion  to  present. 
He  knew  the  sex,  and  fear'd  she  might  repent, 
Should  he  delay  the  moment  of  consent. 
There  yet  remain' d  to  gain  her  friends  (a  c&ra 
The  modesty  of  maidens  well  might  spare  i) 


THiSODORK  AND  HONORIA. 

But  sho  with  such  a  zeal  the  cause  embraced 
(As  women,  where  they  will,  are  all  in  haste) 
That  father,  mother,  and  the  kin  beside 
Were  overfjorne  by  fury  of  the  tide  : 
With  full  consent  of  all,  she  changed  her  state, 
Resistless  in  her  love,  as  in  her  hate. 

By  her  example  warn'd,  the  rest  beware  ; 
More  easy,  less  imperious  were  the  fair  ; 
And  that  one  hunting,  which  the  devil  design'd 
For  otic  fair  female,  lost  him  half  the  kind. 


THE  FLOWER  AND  THE  LEAF. 

OB, 

THE  LADY  IN  THE  ARBOUR. 

A  VISION. 


Now  turning  from  the  wintry  signs,  the  sun, 
His  course  exalted  through  the  RriOi  had  run, 
And,  whirling  up  the  skies,  his  chariot  drove 
Through  Taurus,  and  Ihe  lightsome  realms  of  love  ; 
Where  Venus  from  her  orb  descends  in  showers, 
To  glad  the  ground,  and  paint  the  fields  with  flowers : 
When  first  the  tender  blades  of  grass  appear, 
And  buds,  that  yet  the  blast  of  Eurus  fear, 
Stand  at  the  door  of  life,  and  doubt  to  clothe  tho 
year ; 

Till  gentle  heat  and  soft  repeated  rains 
Make  the  green  blood  to  dance  within  their  veins  : 
Then,  at  their  call,  embolden'd  out  they  come, 
And  swell  the  gems,  and  burst  the  narrow  room  : 
Broader  and  broader  yet  their  blooms  display, 
Salute  the  welcome  sun,  and  entertain  tne  da.y% 

M 


FABLES. 


Then  from  their  breathing  souis  the  sweets  repair 
To  scent  the  skies,  and  purge  th'  unwholesome  air  ; 
Joy  spreads  the  heart,  and  with  a  generifi  song 
Spring  issues  out,  and  leads  the  joll}'  mouths  along. 

In  that  sweet  season,  as  in  bed  I  la,v, 
Aad  sought  in  sleep  to  pass  the  night  away, 
I  turn'd  my  weary  side,  but  still  in  vain, 
Though  full  of  youthful  health,  and  void  of  pain  : 
Cares  I  had  none,  to  keep  me  from  my  rest. 
For  love  had  never  entei'  d  in  my  breast ; 
I  wanted  nothing  fortune  could  supply, 
Nor  did  she  slumber  tiK  that  hour  deny. 
I  wonder' d  then,  but  after  found  it  true, 
JIuch  joy  had  dried  away  the  balmy  dew  : 
Seas  would  be  pools,  without  the  brushing  air 
To  curl  the  waves  ;  and  sure  some  little  care 
Should  weary  Nature  so,  to  make  her  want  repair. 

When  Chanticleer  the  second  watch  had  sung, 
Scorning  the  scorner  sleep,  from  bed  I  sprung  ; 
And  dressing,  by  the  moon,  in  loose  array, 
Pass'd  out  in  open  air,  preventing  day, 
And  sought  a  goodly  grove,  as  fancy  led  my  way. 
Straight  as  a  line  in  beauteous  order  stood, 
Of  oaks  unshorn,  a  venerable  wood ; 
Fresh  was  the  grass  beneath,  and  every  tree 
At  distance  planted  in  a  due  degree, 
Their  branching  arms  in  air  with  equal  space 
Stretch' d  to  their  neighbours  with  a  long  embrace  I 
And  the  new  leaves  on  every  bough  were  seen. 
Some  ruddy-colour' d,  some  of  lighter  green. 
The  painted  birds,  companions  of  the  spring, 
Hopping  from  spray  to  spray,  were  h«ard  to  sing  ; 


THE  FLOWER  AND  T.  i  LEAF.  iGS 

Both  eyes  ar>d  ears  received  a  like  deiijht. 
Enchanting  music,  and  a  charming  sight. 
On  Philomel  I  fix'd  my  whole  desire, 
And  listen'd  for  the  queen  of  all  the  quire  ; 
Fain  would  I  hear  her  heavenly  voice  to  sing, 
And  w.anted  yet  an  omen  to  th.e  Spring. 

Attending  long  in  vain,  I  took  the  way, 
Whi^h  through  a  path  hut  scarcely  printed  lay ; 
In  narrow  mazes  oft  it  seem'd  to  me€t, 
And  iook'd  as  lightly  press'd  by  fairy  fpet. 
Wandering  I  walk'd  alone  ;  for  still  meth-ought 
To  some  strange  end  so  strange  a  path  was  wrought. 
At  last  it  led  m.e  where  an  arbour  stood, 
The  sacred  receptacle  of  the  wood  : 
This  place  unmark'd,  though  oft  I  walk'd  the  green. 
In  all  my  progress  I  had  never  seen  : 
And,  seized  at  once  with  wonder  and  delight, 
Gazed  all  around  me,  new  to  the  transporting  sight* 
'Twas  bench 'd  with  turf,  and  goodly  to  be  seen, 
The  thick  young  grass  arose  in  fresher  green  : 
The  mound  was  newly  made,  no  sight  could  pass 
Betwixt  the  nice  partitions  of  the  grass, 
The  well  united  sods  so  closely  lay  ; 
And  all  around  the  shades  defended  it  from  day: 
For  sycamores  with  eglantine  were  spread, 
A  hedge  about  the  sides,  a  covering  overhead. 
And  so  the  fragrant  brier  v\<xs  wove  between. 
The  sycamore  and  flowers  were  mix'd  with  green, 
Thai  nature  seem'd  to  vary  the  delight, 
Aud  satisfied  at  once  the  smell  and  sight. 
T-he  master  workman  of  the  bower  Avas  known 
Through  fairy  kinds,  and  built  for  Oberon  ; 


194 


FABLES. 


Who  twining  leaves  with  such  proportion  drew, 

They  rose  by  measure,  and  by  rule  they  grew  ; 

No  mortal  tongue  can  half  th-e  beauty  tell, 

For  none  but  hands  divine  could  work  so  well. 

Both  roof  and  sides  were  like  a  parlour  made, 

A  soft  recess,  and  a  cool  summer  shade ; 

The  hedge  was  set  so  thick,  no  foreign  eye 

The  persons  placed  within  it  could  espy  : 

But  all  that  pass'd  without  with  ease  was  seen^ 

As  if  nor  fence  nor  tree  was  placed  between. 

'Twas  border' d  with  a  field  ;  and  some  w,as  plain 

With  grass  ;  and  some  was  sow'd  with  rising  grain  j 

That  (now  the  dew  with  spangles  deck'd  the  ground) 

A  sweeter  spo4  of  earth  was  never  found. 

I  look'd,  and  look'd,  and  still  with  new  delight ; 

Such  joy  my  soul,  such  pleasures  fill'd  ray  sight : 

And  the  fresh  eglantine  exhaled  a  breath. 

Whose  odours  were  of  power  to  raise  from  death. 

Nor  sullen  discontent,  nor  anxious  care, 

Even  though  brought  thither,  could  inhabit  there  : 

But  thence  they  fled  as  from  their  mortal  foe, 

For  this  sweet  place  could  only  pleasure  know. 

Thus  as  I  mused,  I  cast  aside  my  eye 
And  saw  a  medlar-tree  was  planted  nigh  : 
The  spreading  branches  made  a  goodly  show, 
And  full  of  opening  blooms  was  every  bough. 
A  goldfinch  there  I  saw  with  gaudy  pride 
Of  painted  plumes,  that  hopp'd  from  s'dc  to  side. 
Still  pecking  as  she  pass'd  ;  and  still  she  drew 
The  sweets  from  every  flower,  and  suck'd  the  dtw» 
SuflSced  at  length,  she  warbted  in  her  throat. 
And  tuned  her  voice  to  many  a  merry  note, 


THE  FLOWER  AND  THE  LEAF. 

BKt  indistiBct,  and  neither  sweet  nor  clear, 
Yet  such  as  sooth' d  my  soul,  and  pleased  ray  ear. 

Her  short  performa-nce  was  no  sooner  tried, 
When  she  I  sought,  the  nightingale,  replied. 
So  sweet,  so  shrill,  so  varjonsly  she  sung, 
That  the  grove  echo'd,  and  the  valleys  rung  : 
And  I  so  ravish 'd  with  her  heavenly  note, 
I  stood  entranced,  and  had  no  room  for  thoughtr; 
But  all  o'erpower'd  with  ecstasy  of  bliss, 
Was  in  a  pleasing  dream  of  paradise. 
At  length  I  waked  ;  and  looking  round  the  bower 
Search'd  every  tree,  and  pried  on  every  flower, 
If  any  where  by  chance  I  mi^ht  espy 
Tbe  rural  poet  of  the  melody : 
For  still  methought  she  sung  not  far  away ; 
At  last  I  found  her  on  a  laurel  spray. 
Close  by  my  side  she  sat,  and  fair  in  sight, 
Full  in  a  line,  against  her  opposite  ; 
Where  stood  with  eglantine  the  laurel  twirred  ; 
And  both  their  native  sweets  were  well  conjoin'd. 

On  the  green  bank  I  sat,  and  listen'd  long 
(Sitting  was  more  convenient  for  the  song) ; 
Nor  till  her  lay  was  ended  could  I  move, 
But  wish'd  to  dwell  for  ever  in  the  grove. 
Only  methought  the  time  too  swiftfy  paseM, 
And  every  note  I  fear'd  would  be  the  last. 
My  sight,  and  smell,  and  hearing  were  employed, 
Add  all  three  senses  in  full  gust  enjoy 'd. 
And  what  alone  did  all  the  rest  surpass, 
The  sweet  possession  of  the  fairy  place ; 
Single,  and  conscious  to  myself  alone 
Of  pleasures  to  the  excluded  world  unknown  i 


PACLKS. 


Pleasures  wliich  no  where  else  >verc  to  ue  foiici. 
And  all  EI}  siuni  in  a  spot  of  ground. 

Thus  while  I  sat,  intent  to  see  and  hear, 
And  drew  perfumes  of  more  t.han  vital  air, 
All  suddenly  I  heard  th*  approaching  soiird 
Of  vocal  music  on  th'  enchanted  ground. 
A  host  of  saints  it  seem'd,  so  full  the  quire 
As  if  the  bless 'd  above  did  all  conspire 
To  join  then-  voices,  and  neglect  the  lyrC: 
At  length  there  issued  from  the  grove  behind 
A  fair  assembly  of  the  female  kind  : 
A  train  less  fair,  as  ancient  father.'*  tell. 
Se(«iced  the  sons  of  Heaven  to  rebel. 
1  pass  their  form  and  every  charnxing  grace ; 
Less  than  an  angel  would  their  worth  debase  ; 
But  their  attire,  like  liveries  of  a  kind 
All  rich  and  rare,  is  fresh  within  my  mind. 
In  velvet  white  as  snow  the  troop  was  gown'd, 
The  seams  with  sparkling  emeralds  set  around ; 
Their  hoods  and  sleeves  the  same  ;  and  purfled  o'er 
"With  diamonds,  pearls,  and  all  the  shining  store 
Cf  eastern  pomp  :  their  long  descending  train, 
"With  rabies  edged  and  sapphires,  swept  the  plain : 
High  on  their  heads,  with  jewels  richly  set, 
Each  lady  wore  a  radiant  coronet. 
Beneath  the  circles,  all  the  quire  was  graced 
With  chaplets  green  on  their  fair  foreheads  placed. 
Of  laurel  some,  of  woodbine  many  more  ; 
And  wreaths  of  agnus  castas  others  bore : 
These  last,  who  with  those  virgin  crowns  wert 
d-rss'd, 

Appear' d  io  hig-her  honour  than  the  rest* 


7HE  FLOWER  AND  THE  LEAF.  l67 

They  danced  around,  but  in  the  midst  was  seen 
A  lady  of  a  more  majestic  mien  ; 
By  stature  and  by  beauty  mark'd  their  so^ere'g* 
queen. 

She  in  the  midst  began  with  sober  grace  j 
Her  servants'  eyes  were  fix'd  upon  her  face  : 
And,  as  she  moved  or  turn'd,  her  motions  view*d, 
Her  measures  kept,  and  step  by  step  pursued. 
IV'cthought  she  trod  the  ground  with  greater  gmcc. 
With  more  of  godhead  sliining  in  her  face : 
And  as  in  beauty  she  surpass' d  the  quire, 
So  nobler  than  the  rest  was  her  attire. 
A  crown  of  ruddy  gold  enclosed  her  brow, 
Plain  without  pomp,  and  rich  without  a  show  : 
A  branch  of  agr.ns  castus  in  her  hand 
She  bore  aloft,  her  sceptre  of  command  ! 
Admired,  adored  by  all  the  circling  crowd  ; 
For  wheresoe'er  she  turn'd  her  face,  they  bow'd: 
And  as  she  danced,  a  roundelay  she  sung. 
In  honour  of  the  laurel,  ever  young  : 
She  raised  her  voice  on  high,  and  sung  so  clear, 
The  fawns  came  scudding  from  the  groves  to  hear: 
And  all  the  bending  forest  lent  an  ear. 
At  every  close  she  made,  th'  attending  thrcng 
Replied,  and  bore  the  burden  of  the  song ; 
So  just,  80  small,  yet  in  so  sweet  a  note. 
It  seem'd  the  music  melted  in  the  throat. 

Thus  dancing  on,  and  singing  as  they  danced. 
They  to  the  middle  of  the  mead  advanced, 
Till  round  my  arbour  a  new  ring  they  made, 
And  footed  it  about»the  secret  shade. 


153 


O* ercr'd  to  fee  the  jolly  troop  m  nc^r, 
But  scmewhat  awed,  I  shook  with  holy  fearj 
Yet  not  £0  much,  but  that  I  noted  well 
Who  tiia  the  most  in  sons:  or  dance  excel. 

Not  long:  I  had  observed,  when  from  afar 
I  i.e*id  d  sudd^in  symphony  ot  v,ar  ; 
IT.e  neighir  g  coursers,  and  the  soldiers'  cry. 
And  sctxndbg  trumps  that  seem'd  to  tear  the  sky: 
I  saw  sc-oa  after  this,  behind  the  prove 
From  whence  the  ladies  did  in  order  move, 
Come  issuing  out  in  arms  a  warrior  train, 
That  like  a  ne'i-g'S  pour'd  upon  the  plain  : 
On  barbed  cteeds  they  rode  in  proud  array, 
Thick  as  th*:  college  of  the  bees  in  May, 
When  swarming  o'er  the  dusky  flckU  they  fly, 
New  to  the  flowers,  and  intercept  the  sky. 
So  fierce  they  drove,  their  coursers  were  so  fleet 
That  the  turf  trembled  underneath  their  feet. 

To  tell  tlieir  costly  furniture  were  long, 
The  summer's  day  would  end  before  the  song  ; 
To  purchase  but  the  ter.  th  of  all  their  store 
Would  make  the  mighty  Persian  monarch  poor. 
Vet  what  I  cat»  I  will ;  before  the  rest 
The  truro,»ets  Issued  in  white  mantles  Jress'd  : 
A  rumerii/us  troop,  and  all  their  heads  around 
With  chaplets  green  of  cerrial  oak  were  crown*d  ; 
And  at  each  trumpet  was  a  banner  bound  ; 
Which,  waving  in  the  wind,  display' d  at  large 
Their  master's  coat  of  arms  and  knightly  charge, 
Broad  were  the  banners,  and  of  snowy  hue, 
A  purer  web  the  silkworm  never  drew. 


THS  FLOWER  AND  THE  LEAF.  10|^ 

The  chief  about  their  necks  the  scutcheons  wore, 
With  orient  pearls  and  jewels  powder'd  o'er  : 
Broad  were  their  collars  too,  and  every  one 
Was  set  about  with  many  a  costly  stone. 
Next  these  of  kings  at  arms  a  goodly  train, 
In  proud  array,  came  prancing  o'er  the  plain  j 
Their  cloaks  were  cloth  of  silver  mix'd  with  gold* 
And  garlands  green  around  their  temples  roU'd. 
Rich  crowns  were  on  their  royal  'scutcheons  placca. 
With  sapphires,  diamonds,  and  with  rubies  graced. 
And  as  the  trumpets  their  appearance  made, 
So  these  in  habits  were  alike  array 'd  ; 
But  with  a  pace  more  sober,  and  more  slow : 
And  twenty,  rank  in  rank,  they  rode  arow. 
The  pursuivants  came  next,  in  number  more  ; 
And,  like  the  heralds,  each  his  'scutcheon  bore  : 
Clad  in  white  velvet  all  their  troop  they  led, 
With  each  an  oaken  chaplet  on  his  head. 

Nine  royal  knights  in  equal  rank  succeed, 
Each  warrior  mounted  on  a  fiery  steed  : 
In  golden  armour  glorious  to  behold  ; 
The  rivets  of  their  arras  were  nail'd  with  gold. 
Their  surcoats  of  white  ermine  fur  were  made  : 
With  cloth  of  gold  between,  that  cast  a  glitterinf 
shade . 

The  trappings  of  their  steeds  were  of  the  same  ; 
The  golden  fringe  e'en  set  the  ground  on  flame, 
And  drew  a  precious  trail  :  a  crown  divine 
Of  laurel  did  about  their  temples  twine. 

Three  henchmen  wf  re  for  every  kr^ight  assign* dj 
All  in  rich  livorf  clad,  acid  of  a  kind  ; 


rABLBS. 


White  velvet,  but  unshorn,  for  cloaks  they  wof% 
And  each  within  his  hand  a  truncheon  bore  : 
The  foremost  held  a  helm  of  rare  device  ; 
A  prince's  ransom  would  not  pay  the  price : 
The  second  bore  the  buckler  of  his  knight ; 
The  third,  of  cornel- wood,  a  spear  upright, 
Headed  with  piercing  steel,  and  polish' d  bright» 
Like  to  their  lords',  their  equipage  was  seen. 
And  all  their  foreheads   crown' d  with  garlands 
green. 

\nd,  after  these,  came,  arm'd  with  spear  and  shield; 
A  host  so  great  as  cover' d  all  the  field  : 
And  all  theii  ^reheads,  like  the  knights  before. 
With  laurels  ever  green  were  shaded  o'er. 
Or  oak,  or  other  leaves  of  lasting  kind. 
Tenacious  of  the  stem,  and  firm  against  the  wind. 
Some  in  their  hands,  beside  the  lance  and  shield^ 
The  boughs  of  woodbine  or  of  hawthorn  held. 
Or  branches  for  their  mystic  emblems  took 
Of  palm,  of  laurel,  or  of  cerrial  oak. 
Thus  marching  to  the  trumpet's  lofty  sound, 
Drawn  in  two  lines  adverse  th^y  wheel'd  around, 
And  in  the  middle  meadow  took  their  ground. 
Among  themselves  the  tourney  they  divide 
In  equal  squadrons,  ranged  on  either  side. 
Then  turn'd  their  horses*  heads,  and  man  to  man, 
And  steed  to  steed  opposed,  the  justs  began. 
They  lightly  set  their  lances  in  the  rest. 
And,  at  the  sign,  against  each  other  press'd : 
They  met :  I,  sitting  at  my  ease,  beheld 
The  mix'd  events  and  fortunes  of  the  field. 


THE  FLO-JTER  AND  THE  LEAF. 


171 


S-jmc  broke  their  spears,  some  tumbled  horse  and 
man, 

And  round  the  fields  the  lighten'd  coursers  ran ; 
An  hour  and  more,  like  tides,  in  equal  sway 
They  rush'd,  and  won  by  turns  and  lost  the  day. 
At  length  the  nine  (who  still  together  held) 
Their  fainting  foes  to  shameful  flight  eompell'd. 
And  with  resistless  force  o'erran  the  fie*d. 
Thus,  to  their  fame,  when  finish 'd  was  the  fight, 
The  victors  from  their  lofty  steeds  alight : 
Like  them  dismounted  all  the  warlike  train, 
And  two  by  two  proceeded  o'er  the  plain : 
Till  to  the  fair  assembly  they  advanced, 
Who,  near  the  secret  arbour,  sung  and  danced. 

The  ladies  left  their  measures  at  the  sight. 
To  r^ee*-  the  chiefs  returning  from  the  fight, 
And  trtcn,  with  open  arms,  embraced  her  chosen 
knight. 

Amid  the  plain  a  spreading  laurel  stood, 
The  grace  and  ornament  of  all  the  wood  : 
That  pleasing  shade  they  sought,  a  soft  retreat, 
From  sudden  April  show-ers,  a  shelter  from  the  he&t* 
Her  leafy  arms  with  such  extent  were  spread. 
So  near  the  clouds  was  her  aspiring  head. 
That  hosts  of  birds  that  wing  the  liquid  air, 
Perch'd  in  the  boughs,  had  nightly  lodging  there': 
And  flocks  of  sheep  beneath  the  shade  from  fat 
Might  hear  the  rattling  hail  and  wintry  war  ; 
From  heaven's  inclemency  here  found  retreat, 
Enjoy'd  the  cool,  and  shunn'd  the  scorching  heati 
A  hundred  knights  might  there  at  ease  abide  ; 
And  every  kaifj^ht  a  lady  b}-  Lis  side  : 


yABL£a. 


The  trunk  itself  such  odours  did  bequeath 

That  a  ]\Ioluccan  breeze  to  these  was  common  breatlw 

The  lords  and  ladies,  here  approaching,  paid 

Their  homage,  with  a  low  obeisance  made  : 

And  seem'd  to  venerate  th-e  sacred  shade. 

These  rites  perform'd,  their j)leasures  they  pursue, 

With  songs  of  love,  and  mix  with  measures  new  ; 

Around  the  holy  tree  their  dance  they  frame, 

And  every  champion  leads  liis  chosen  dame. 

I  cast  my  sight  upon  the  further  field, 
And  a  fresh  object  of  delight  beheld  : 
For,  from  the  region  of  the  west,  I  heard 
New  music  sound,  and  a  new  troop  appear' J 
Of  knights  and  ladies  mix'd,  a  jolly  band; 
But  all  on  foot  they  march 'd,  and  hand  in  hand. 

The  ladies  dress' d  in  rich  simars  were  seen 
Of  Florence  satin,  flower' d  with  white  and  green, 
And  for  a  shade  betwixt  the  bloomy  gridelin. 
The  borders  of  their  petticoats  below 
Were  guarded  thick  with  rubies  on  a  row ; 
And  every  damsel  wore  upon  her  head 
Of  flowers  a  garland,  blended  white  and  red. 
Attired  in  mantles  all  the  knights  were  seen. 
That  gratified  the  view  v/ith  cheerful  green  : 
Their  chaplets  of  their  ladies'  colours  were,  [hair. 
Composed  of  white  and  red,  to  shade  their  shining 
Before  the  merry  troop  the  minstrels  play'd ; 
All  in  their  master's  liveries  were  array'd. 
And  clad  in  green  ;  and  on  their  temples  wore 
The  chaplets  white  and  red  their  ladies  bore. 
Their  instrumcttts  were  various  in  their  kind  ; 
Some  for  the  bow,  and  some  for  breathing  wind  j 


THE  FLOWfiR  AM)  THE  LEAF.  173 

The  psaltry,  pipe,  and  hautboy's  noisy  band, 
And  the  soft  lute  trembling  beneath  the  touching 
hand. 

A  tuft  of  daisies  on  a  flowery  lay 

They  saw,  and  thitherward  they  bent  their  way  : 

To  this  both  knights  and  dames  their  homage  madf. 

And  due  obeisance  to  the  daisy  paid. 

And  when  the  band  of  flutes  began  to  play, 

To  which  a  lady  sung  a  virelay  ; 

And  still  at  every  close  she  would  repeat 

The  burden  of  the  song,  '  The  daisy  is  so  sweet.* 

*  The  daisy  is  so  sweet,'  when  she  begun, 

The  troop  of  icnights  and  dames  continued  on. 

The  concert  and  the  voice  so  charm' d  my  ear. 

And  sooth' d  my  soul,  that  it  was  heaven  to  hear. 

But  soon  their  pleasure  pass'd  :  at  noon  of  day 
The  sun  with  sultry  beams  began  to  play  : 
Not  Sirius  shoots  a  fiercer  flame  from  high. 
When  with  his  poisonous  breath  he  blasts  the  sky : 
Then  droop'd  the  fading  flowers  (their  beauty  fled; 
And  closed  their  sickly  eyes,  and  hung  the  head  ; 
And,  rivel'd  up  with  heat,  lay  dying  in  their  bed. 
The  ladies  gasp'd,  and  scarcely  could  respire  : 
The  breath  they  drew,  no  longer  air,  but  fire  ; 
The  fainty  knights  were  scorch' d,  and  knew  not 
To  run  for  shelter,  for  no  shade  was  near.  [where 
And  after  this  the  gathering  clouds  amain 
Pour'd  down  a  storm  of  rattling  hail  and  rain, 
And  lightning  flash' d  betwixt :  the  field  and  flowers, 
Burn'd  up  before,  were  buried  in  the  showers. 
The  ladies  and  the  knights,  no  shelter  nigh, 
Bwe  to  the  weather  and  the  wintry  sky, 


174 


VABLBS. 


Were  dropping  wet,  disconsolata  and  wan, 
And  through  their  thin  array  received  the  rain  : 
While  those  in  white,  protected  by  the  tree, 
Saw  pass  the  vain  assault,  and  stood  from  dangef 
free. 

But  as  compassion  moved  their  gentle  minds, 
When  ceased  the  storm,  and  silent  were  the  winds, 
Displeased  at  what,  not  suffering,  they  bad  seen, 
They  went  to  cheer  the  faction  of  the  green. 
The  queen  in  white  array  before  her  band. 
Saluting,  took  her  rival  by  the  hand  ; 
So  did  the  knights  and  dames,  with  courtly  grace, 
And  with  behaviour  sweet  their  foes  embrace. 
Then  thus  the  queen  with  laurel  on  her  brow  : 
*  Fair  sister,  I  have  suffer 'd  in  your  woe. 
Nor  shall  be  wanting  aught  within  my  power 
For  your  relief  in  my  refreshing  bower.* 
That  other  answcr'd  with  a  lowly  look, 
And  soon  the  gracious  invitation  took  : 
For  ill  at  ease,  both  she  and  all  her  train 
The  scorching  sun  had  borne,  and  beating  rain  ; 
Like  courtesy  was  used  by  all  in  white. 
Each  dame  a  dame  received,  and  every  knight  a 
knight. 

The  laurel  champions  with  their  swords  invade 

The  neighbouring  forests,  where  the  justs  were  made, 

And  sere  wood  from  the  rotten  hedges  took. 

And  seeds  of  latent  fire  from  flints  provoke  : 

A  cheerful  blaze  arose,  and  by  the  fire  [attire. 

They  warm'd  their  frozen  feet,  and  dried  their  wet 

Refresh' d  with  heat,  the  ladies  sought  around 

For  virluous  herbs,  which  gather'd  from  the  ground 


THB  FLOWER  A.ND  THE  LEAF.  175 


THey  squeezed  the  juice,  and  cooling  ointment  made, 
Which  on  their  sunburn' d  cheeks,  and  their  chapp*d 

skins  they  laid : 
Then  sought  green  salads  which  they  bade  them  eat, 
A  sovereign  remedy  for  inward  heat. 
The  lady  of  the  leaf  ordain 'd  a  feast," 
And  made  the  lady  of  the  flower  her  guest : 
When  lo  !  a  bower  ascended  on  the  plain, 
With  sudden  seats  adorn 'd,  and  large  for  either  train. 
This  bow».T  was  near  my  pleasant  arbour  placed, 
That  I  could  hear  and  see  whatever  pass'd. 
The  ladies  sat,  with  each  a  knight  between, 
Distinguish' d  by  their  colours,  white  and  green  : 
The  vanquish'd  party  with  the  victors  join'd, 
Nor  wanted  sweet  discourse — the  banquet  of  ik» 

mind. 

l\Ieantime,  the  minstrels  play'd  on  cither  side. 

Vain  in  their  art,  and  for  the  mastery  vied : 

The  sweet  contention  lasted  for  an  hour. 

And  reach' d  my  secret  arbour  from  the  bower. 

The  sun  was  set  ;  and  Vesper,  to  suppply 

His  absent  beam,  had  lighted  up  the  sky  ; 

When  Philomel,  officious  all  the  day 

To  sing  the  service  of  th'  ensuing  May, 

Fled  from  her  laurel  shade,  and  wing'd  her  flight 

Directly  to  the  queen  array 'd  in  white  ; 

And  hopping,  sat  familiar  on  her  hand, 

A  new  musician,  and  increased  the  band. 

The  goldfinch,  who,  to  shun  the  scalding  heat. 
Had  changed  the  medlar  for  a  safer  wat, 
And  hid  in  bushes  'scaped  the  bitter  shower, 
Now  perch' d  upon  the  lady  of  the  flower  ; 


176 


FABLKS. 


And  either  songster  holding  out  their  throats, 
An-d  folding  up  their  wings,  renew'd  their  note*  ; 
As  if  all  day,  preluding  to  the  fight, 
They  only  had  rehearsed,  to  sing  by  night. 
The  banquet  ended,  and  the  battle  done, 
They  danced  by  starlight  and  the  friendly  moon*. 
And  when  they  were  to  part,  the  laureate  queen 
Supplied  with  steeds  the  lady  of  the  green  ; 
Her  and  her  train  conducting  on  the  way. 
The  moon  to  follow,  and  avoid  the  day. 

This  when  I  saw,  inquisitive  to  know 
The  secret  moral  of  the  mystic  show, 
I  started  from  my  shade,  in  hopes  to  find 
Some  nymphs  to  satisfy  my  longing  mind  : 
And,  as  my  fair  adventure  fell,  I  found 
A  lady  all  in  white  with  laurel  crown 'd. 
Who  closed  the  rear,  and  softly  paced  along, 
Repeating  to  herself  the  former  song. 
With  due  respect  my  body  I  inclined. 
As  to  some  being  of  superior  kind, 
And  made  my  court,  according  to  the  day, 
Wishing  her  queen  and  her  a  happy  May  ! 

*  Great  thanks,  my  daughter  !'  with  a  gracious  bo^ 
She  said  ;  and  I,  so  much  desired  to  know 

Of  whence  she  was,  yet  fearful  how  to  break 
My  mind,  adventured  humbly  thus  to  speak : 

*  Madam,  might  I  presume,  and  not  offend? 
So  may  the  stars  and  shining  moon  attend 
Your  nightly  sports,  as  you  vouchsafe  to  tell 
What  nymphs  they  were  who  mortal  forms  excel, 
And  what  the  knights  who  fought  in  listed  field*  sa 


THE  FLOWEK  AND  THE  LEAF.  l^? 

To  this  the  dame  replied,  *  Fair  daughter,  know 

That  what  you  saw  was  all  a  fairy  show  : 

And  all  those  airy  shapes  you  now  behold    [mould  : 

Were  human  bodies  once,  and  clothed  with  earthly 

Our  souls,  not  yet  prepared  for  upper  light, 

Till  doomsday  wander  in  the  shades  of  night : 

This  only  holiday  of  all  the  year. 

We  privileged  in  sunshine  may  appear ; 

With  songs  and  dance  we  celebrate  the  day, 

And  with  due  honours  usbcr  in  the  May. 

At  other  times  we  reign  by  night  alone, 

And,  posting  through  the  skies,  pursue  the  moon  : 

But  when  the  morn  arises,  none  are  found. 

For  cruel  Demogorgon  walks  the  round, 

And  if  he  finds  a  fairy  lag  in  light, 

He  drives  the  wretch  before,  and  lashes  into  nighti 

*  All  courteous  are  by  kind  ;  and  ever  proud 
With  friendly  offices  to  help  the  good. 
In  every  land  we  have  a  larger  space 
Than  what  is  known  to  you  of  mortal  race  : 
Where  we  with  green  adorn  our  fairy  bowers^ 
And  even  this  grove,  unseen  before,  is  ours. 
Know  further,  every  lady  clothed  in  white, 
And,  crown' d  with  oak  and  laurel  every  knight. 
Are  servants  to  the  Leaf,  by  liveries  known 
Of  innocence,  and  I  myself  am  one  ! 
Saw  you  not  her,  so  graceful  to  behold. 
In  white  attire,  and  crown 'd  with  radiant  gold 7 
The  sovereign  lady  of  our  land  is  she, 
Diana  call'd,  the  queen  of  chastity  : 
And,  for  the  spotless  name  of  maid  she  beaiSli^ 
That  agmts  castm  in  her  hand  appears ; 

M 


173 


FABLES. 


And  all  her  train  with  leafy  chaplets  crown' d 
Were  for  unblamed  virginity  renown'd; 
But  those  the  chief  and  highest  in  command 
Who  bear  those  holy  branches  in  their  hand. 
The  knights  adorn*d  with  laurel  crowns  are  they 
Whom  death  nor  danger  ever  could  dismay  ; 
Victorious  names,  who  made  the  world  obey  : 
Who,  while  they  lived,  in  deeds  of  arms  excelled. 
And  after  death  for  deities  were  held. 
But  those  who  wear  the  woodbine  on  their  brow 
Were  knights  of  love,  who  never  broke  their  vow : 
Firm  to  their  plighted  faith,  and  ever  free 
From  fears  and  fickle  chance  and  jealousy. 
The  lords  and  ladies  who  the  woodbine  bear 
As  true  as  Tristram  and  Isotta  were.' 

*  But  what  are  those,'  said  I,  '  th'  unconquer'd 

nine,  [mour  shine  ? 

Who,  crown'd  with  laurel-wreaths,  .n  golden  ar- 
And  who  the  knights  in  green,  and  what  the  train 
Of  ladies  dress' d  with  daisies  on  the  plain? 
Why  both  the  bands  in  worship  disagree. 
And  some  adore  the  flower,  and  some  the  tree  ?* 

*  Just  is  your  suit,  fair  daughter,'  said  the  dame. 
*  Those  laurel' d  chiefs  were  men  of  mighty  fame ; 
Nine  worthies  were  they  call'd  of  different  rites. 
Three  Jews,  three  pagans,   and  three  Christian 

knights. 

These,  as  you  see,  ride  foremost  in  the  field, 

As  they  the  foremost  rank  of  honour  held. 

And  all  in  deeds  of  chivalry  excell'd  : 

Their  temples  wreathed  with  leaves,  that  stili  renew ; 

For  deathil2ss  laurel  is  the  victor's  due. 


THE  FLOWEB  AND  THE  LEAF. 


WliO  bear  the  hows  were  knights  in  Arthur's  reiga, 
Twelve  they,  and  twelve  the  peers  of  Charlemagne ; 
For  bows  the  strength  of  brawny  arras  imply, 
Emblems  of  valour  and  of  victory. 
Behold  an  order  yet  of  newer  date, 
Doubling  their  number,  equal  in  their  state  ; 
Our  England'*  ornament,  the  crown's  defence, 
In  battle,  brave  protectors  of  their  prince ; 
Unchanged  by  fortune,  to  their  sovereign  true. 
For  which  their  manly  legs  are  bound  with  blue. 
These,  of  the  garter  call'd,  of  faith  unstain'd. 
In  fighting  fields  the  laurel  have  obtain' d, 
And  well  repaid  those  honours  which  they  gainM* 
The  laurel  wreaths  were  first  by  Caesar  worn. 
And  still  they  CiEsar's  successors  adorn  : 
One  leaf  of  this  is  immortality. 
And  more  of  worth  than  all  the  world  can  buy.' 

'  One  doubt  remains,'  said  I,  '  the  dames  in  green. 
What  were  their  qualities,  and  who  their  queen  ?' 
'  Flora  commands,'  said  she,  *  those  nymphs  and 
knights, 

WTio  lived  in  slothful  ease,  and  loose  delights  : 
Who  never  acts  of  honour  durst  pursue, 
Tlie  men  inglorious  knights,  the  ladies  all  untrue  : 
Who,  nursed  in  idleness  and  train'd  in  courts, 
Pass'd  all  their  precious  hours  in  plays  and  sports, 
Till  death  behind  came  stalking  on  unseen. 
And  wither'd,  like  the  storm,  the  freshness  of  thcif 
green. 

These  and  their  mates  enjoy  the  present  hour, 
And  (aerefore  pay  their  homage  to  the  FlowQi* 
it  2 


»80 


FABLES. 


But  knights  in  knightly  deeds  should  persevere, 
And  still  continue  what  at  first  they  were  ; 
Continue  and  proceed  in  honour's  fair  career. 
No  room  for  cowardice  or  dull  delay, 
From  good  to  better  they  should  urge  their  way. 
For  this  w'ith  golden  spurs  the  chiefs  are  graced, 
With  pointed  rowels  arm'd  to  mend  their  haste  ; 
For  this  with  lasting  leaves  their  brows  are  bound  ; 
For  laurel  is  the  sign  of  labour  crown'd, 
Which  bears  the  bitter  blast,  nor  shaken  falls  to 
ground  : 

From  winter  winds  it  supers  no  decay, 
For  ever  fresh  and  fair,  and  every  month  is  May. 
Even  when  the  vital  sap  retreats  below, 
Even  when  the  hoary  head  is  hid  in  snow, 
The  life  is  in  the  leaf ;  and  still  between 
The  fits  of  falling  snows  appears  the  streaky  green. 
Not  so  the  flower,  which  lasts  for  little  space, 
A  shortlived  good,  and  an  uncertain  grace  : 
This  way  and  that  the  feeble  stem  is  driven, 
Weak  to  sustain  the  storms  and  injuries  of  heaven. 
Propp'd  by  the  si)ring,  it  lifts  aloft  its  head. 
But  of  a  sickly  beauty,  soon  to  shed ; 
in  summer  living,  and  in  winter  dead. 
For  things  of  tender  kind,  for  pleasure  made, 
Shoot  up  with  swift  increase,  and  sudden  are  do« 
cay'd.' 

With  humble  words,  the  wisest  I  could  frame, 
And  proffer'd  service,  I  repaid  the  dame  : 
That,  of  her  grace,  she  gave  her  maid  to  know 
The  secret  meaning  of  this  mopal  shew. 


THE  FLOWER  AND  THE  LEAP. 


161 


And  she,  to  prove  what  profit  I  had  uiade 
Of  mystic  truth,  in  fables  fxrut  convey 'd, 
Demanded,  till  the  next  returning  May, 
Whether  the  leaf  or  flower  I  would  obey  ? 
I  chose  the  leaf ;  she  smiled  with  sober  cheer, 
And  wish'd  me  fair  adventure  for  the  year  ; 
And  gave  me  charms  and  sigils,  for  defence 
Against  ill  tongues  that  scandal  innocence  : 
*  But  I,'  said  she,  *  my  fellows  must  pursue  ; 
Already  pass'd  the  plain  and  out  of  view.' 

We  parted  thus  ;  I  homeward  sped  my  way, 
Bewilder' d  in  the  wood  till  dawn  of  day, 
And  met  the  merry  crew  who  danced  about  the  May* 
Then  late  refresh'd  with  sleep,  I  rose  to  write 
The  visionary  vigils  of  the  night. — 
Blush,  as  thou  mayst,  my  little  book,  for  shame  ! 
Nor  hope  with  homely  verse  to  purchase  fame  ; 
For  such  thy  Maker  chose  ;  and  so  dcsign'd 
Tky  simple  style  to  suit  thy  lowly  kin<^. 


CYMON  AND  IPHIGENIA. 


POETA  LOaUITUR. 

Old  as  I  am,  for  ladies'  love  unfit, 
The  power  of  beauty  I  remember  yet. 
Which  once  inflamed  my  soul,  and  still  inspires  my 
wit. 

If  love  be  folly,  the  severe  divine* 
Has  felt  that  folly,  though  he  censures  mine  ; 
Pollutes  the  pleasures  of  a  chaste  embrace, 
Acts  what  I  write,  and  propagates  in  grace. 
With  riotous  excess,  a  priestly  race. 
Suppose  him  free,  and  that  I  forge  th'  oflFence, 
He  show'd  the  way,  perverting  first  my  sense  : 
In  malice  witty,  and  with  venom  fraught, 
He  makes  me  speak  the  things  I  never  thought. 
Compute  the  grains  of  his  ungovern'd  zeal ; 
111  suits  his  cloth  the  praise  of  railing  well ! 
The  world  will  think  that  what  we  locsely  write, 
Though  now  arraign'd,  he  read  with  some  delight ; 
Because  he  seems  to  chew  the  cud  again, 
When  his  broad  comment  makes  the  next  too  plain^ 
♦  Jsremy  Collier. 


184 


FABLES. 


And  teaches  more  in  one  explaining  pape 
Than  all  the  double  meanings  of  the  stage. 

What  needs  he  paraphrase  on  what  we  m%a^  . 
We  were  at  worst  but  wanton,  he's  obscene, 
I  nor  my  fellows  nor  myself  excuse  ; 
But  love's  the  subject  of  the  comic  muse  : 
Nor  can  we  write  without  it,  nor  would  you 
A  tale  of  only  dry  instru-ction  view  ; 
Nor  love  is  always  of  a  vicious  kind, 
But  oft  to  virtuous  acts  inflames  the  mind  ; 
Awakes  the  sleepy  vigour  of  the  soul, 
And,  brushing  o'er,  adds  motion  to  the  pool. 
hcve,  studious  how  to  please,  improves  our  p«.rt> 
With  polish* d  manners,  and  adorns  with  arts. 
Love  first  invented  verse,  and  form'd  the  rhyme, 
The  motion  measured,  harmonised  the  chime  : 
To  liberal  acts  enlarged  the  n<xrrow  soul'd, 
Soften'd  the  fierce,  and  made  the  coward  bold  : 
The  world,  when  waste,  he  peopled  with  increase, 
And  warring  nations  reconciled  in  pe?.«e. 
Ormond,  the  first,  and  all  the  fair  r^iay  T/nd, 
in  this  one  legend,  to  their  fara*?  de^ign'd,  [nr3id« 
When  beauty  fires  the  blooa,  how  love  itxelXB  « 


Ik  that  s-jreet  isle,  where  Venas  keepe  her  court. 
And  every  Gr»^e,  and  all  the  Lores  resort ; 
Where  cither  sex  is  forna'd  of  softer  earth, 
ind  take*  th<z:  bent  of  pleasure  from  their  birth ; 
There  lived  a  Cypiian  lord,  above  the  rest 
^ise,  wealthy,  with  a  numerous  issue  bleii*d  t 


CTMON  AND  IPHIGBNIA. 


fJut  as  no  gift  of  fortune  is  sincere, 

Was  only  wanting  in  a  worthy  heir. 

Hia  eldest  born,  a  goodly  youth  to  view, 

Excell'd  the  rest  in  shape  and  outward  show  ; 

Fair,  tall,  his  limbs  with  due  proportion  join'd, 

But  of  a  heavy,  dull,  degenerate  raind. 

His  soul  belied  the  features  of  his  face ; 

Beauty  was  there,  but  beauty  in  disgrace  : 

A  clownish  mien,  a  voice  with  rustic  sound, 

And  stupid  eyes  that  ever  loved  the  ground. 

He  look'd  hke  nature's  error  ;  as  the  mind 

And  body  were  not  of  a  piece  design'd,  (join'cL 

But  made  for  two,  and  by  mistalce  in  one  were 

The  ruling  rod,  the  father's  forming  care. 

Were  exercised  in  vain  on  wit's  despair; 

The  more  inform' d,  the  less  he  understood, 

And  deeper  sunk,  by  floundering  in  the  mud. 

Now  scorn'd  of  all,  and  grown  the  public  shame, 

The  people  from  Galcsus  changed  his  name, 

And  Cymon  call'd,  which  signifies  a  brute  ; 

So  well  his  name  did  with  his  nature  suit. 

His  father,  when  he  found  his  labour  lost, 
And  care  employ'd,  that  ansv.er'd  not  the  co&t. 
Chose  an  ungrateful  object  to  remove, 
And  loathed  to  see  what  nature  made  him  love ; 
So  to  his  country  farm  the  fool  confined  : 
Rude  Tork  well  suited  with  a  rustic  mind. 
Thui  to  the  wilds  the  sturdy  Cymon  went, 
A  squire  among  the  swains,  and  pleased  with  baniftli* 
raeut. 

His  corn  and  cattle  were  his  only  care, 
And  his  supreme  delight  a  country  fair. 


186 


PaBLBS. 


It  happcn'd  on  a  summer's  holiday, 
That  to  the  greenwood-shade  he  took  his  way  ; 
For  Cymon  shunn'd  the  church,  and  used  not  much 
to  pray. 

His  quarterstaff,  which  he  could  ne'er  forsake, 
Hung  half  before  and  half  behind  his  back  : 
He  trudged  along  unknowing  what  he  sought, 
And  whistled  as  he  went,  for  want  of  thought. 

By  chance  conducted,  or  by  thirst  constrained, 
The  deep  recesses  of  the  grove  he  gain'd  ; 
Where  in  a  plain,  defended  by  the  wood, 
Crept  through  the  matted  grass  a  crystal  flood, 
By  which  an  alabaster  fountain  stood  ; 
And  on  the  margin  of  the  fount  was  laid 
(Attended  by  her  slaves)  a  sleeping  maid  : 
Like  Dian  and  her  nymphs,  when,  tired  with  sport, 
To  rest  by  cool  Eurotas  they  resort. 
The  dame  herself  the  goddess  well  express' d, 
Not  more  distinguish' d  by  her  purple  vest 
Than  by  the  charming  features  of  her  face, 
And  even  in  slumber  a  superior  grace  : 
Her  comely  limbs  composed  with  decent  care, 
Her  body  shaded  with  a  slight  simar  : 
Her  bosom  to  the  view  was  only  bare  ; 
Where  two  beginning  paps  were  scarcely  a^pied, 
For  yet  their  places  were  but  signified. 
7 he  fanning  wind  upon  her  bosom  blows  ; 
To  meet  the  fanning  wind  the  bosom  rose  ; 
The  fanning  wind  and  purling  streams  continue  het 
repose. 

The  fool  of  Nature  stood  with  stupid  eyei 
And  gapitig  mouth,  that  testified  surpri»tt» 


CYMON  AND  IPHIGEMA. 


187 


Fix'd  on  her  face,  nor  could  remove  his  sight : 
New  as  l:.e  was  to  love,  and  novice  in  delight : 
Long  mute  he  stood,  and  leaning  on  his  staff, 
His  wonder  witness' d  with  an  idiot  laugh  ; 
Then  would  have  spoke,  but  by  his  glimmering 
sense 

First  found  his  want  of  words,  and  fear'd  offence  ; 
Doubted  for  what  he  was  he  should  be  knov&n, 
By  his  clown  accent  and  his  country  tone. 

Through  the  rude  chaos,  thus  the  running  light 
Shot  the  first  ray  that  pierced  the  native  night  : 
Then  day  and  darkness  in  the  mass  were  mix'd. 
Till,  gather' d  in  a  globe,  the  beams  were  fix'd  : 
Last  shone  the  sun,  who,  radiant  in  his  sphere, 
Illumined  heaven  and  earth,  and  roll'd  around  the 
So  reason  in  this  brutal  soul  began  ;  [year. 
Love  made  him  first  suspect  he  was  a  man  ; 
Love  made  him  doubt  his  broad  barbarian  sound ; 
By  love  his  want  of  words  and  wit  he  found  : 
That  sense  of  want  prepared  the  future  way 
To  knowledge,  and  disclosed  the  promise  of  a  day 

What  not  his  father's  care  nor  tutor's  art 
Could  plant  with  pains  in  his  unpolish'd  heart, 
The  best  instructor,  Love,  at  once  inspired ; 
As  barren  grounds  to  fruitfuliiess  are  fired  : 
Love  taught  him  shame,  and  shame,  with  love  al 
strife, 

Soon  taught  the  sweet  civilities  of  life. 
His  gross  material  soul  at  once  could  find 
Somewhat  in  her  excelling  all  her  kind  : 
Exciting  a  desire  till  then  unknown, 
Somewhat  unfound,  or  found  in  her  alone* 


188 


FABLES. 


Phis  made  the  first  impression  in  his  mind, 
Above,  but  just  above,  the  brutal  kind  : 
For  beasts  can  like,  but  not  distinguish  too, 
Nor  their  own  liking  by  reflection  know  ; 
Nor  why  they  like  or  this,  or  th'  other  fr.ce, 
Or  judge  of  this  or  that  peculiar  grace ; 
But  love  in  gross,  and  stupidly  admire  ; 
As  flies,  allured  by  light,  approach  the  fire. 
Thus  our  man-beast,  advancing  by  degrees. 
First  likes  the  whole,  then  separates  what  he  sees  } 
On  several  parts  a  several  praise  bestows. 
The  ruby  lips,  the  well  proportion' d  nose, 
The  snowy  skin,  the  raven-glossy  hair. 
The  dimpled  cheek,  the  forehead  rising  fair, 
And  even  in  sleep  itself  a  smiling  air. 
From  thence  his  eyes  descending  view'd  the  rest, 
Her  plump  round  arms,  v»hite  hands,  and  heaving 
breast : 

Long  on  the  last  he  dwelt,  though  every  part, 
A  pointed  arrow  sped  to  pierce  his  heart. 
Thus  in  a  trice  a  judge  of  beauty  grown 
judge  erected  from  a  country  clown). 
He  long'd  to  see  her  eyes,  in  slumber  hid. 
And  wish'd  his  own  to  pierce  within  the  lid  : 
He  would  have  waked  her,  but  restrain' d  hi.s»  thought ; 
And  Love,  new  born,  the  first  good  manners  taught. 
An  awful  fear  his  ardent  wish  withstood, 
Nor  durst  disturb  the  goddess  of  the  wood  ; 
For  such  she  seem'd  by  her  celestial  face, 
Excelling  all  the  rest  of  human  race  : 
And  things  divine,  by  common  sense  he  knew. 
Must  be  devoutly  seeu  at  distant  view. 


CYMON  AND  IPHIGENIA. 


189 


So,  checking  his  desire,  with  trembling  heart 
Gazing  he  stood,  nor  would  nor  could  depart ; 
Fix'd  as  a  pilgrim  wilder' d  in  his  way. 
Who  dares  not  stir  by  night  for  fear  to  stray, 
But  stands  with  awful  eyes  to  watch  the  dawn  of  day. 

At  length  awaking,  Iphigene  the  fair 
(So  was  the  beauty  call'd  who  caused  his  care) 
Unclosed  her  eyes,  and  double  day  reveal'd, 
While  those  of  all  her  slaves  in  sleep  are  seal'd. 

The  slavering  cuddcn,  propp'd  upon  his  staff, 
Stood  ready  gaping  with  a  grinning  laugh, 
To  welcome  her  awake,  nor  durst  begin 
To  speak,  but  wisely  kept  the  fool  within. 
Then  she  : — '  What  make  you,  Cymon,  here  alone  V 
(For  Cymon's  name  was  round  the  country  known, 
Because  descended  of  a  noble  race, 
And  for  a  soul  ill  sorted  with  his  face). 

But  still  the  sot  stood  silent  with  surprise, 
With  fix'd  regard  on  her  new-open'd  eyes. 
And  in  his  breast  received  th'  envenom' d  dart, 
A  tickling  pain  that  pleased  amid  the  smart. 
But  conscious  of  her  form,  with  quick  distrust 
She  saw  his  sparkling  eyes,  and  fear'd  his  brutal 
lust. 

This  to  prevent,  she  waked  her  sleepy  crew, 
And  rising  hasty  took  a  short  adieu  ! 

Then  Cymon  first  his  rustic  voice  essay'd, 
With  proifer'd  service  to  the  parting  maid 
To  see  her  safe  :  his  hand  she  long  denied. 
But  took  at  length,  ashamed  of  such  a  guide. 
So  Cymon  led  her  home,  and,  leaving  there, 
No  more  would  to  his  country  clowns  repair. 


190 


VABLKS. 


But  sought  his  father's  house  with  better  mind. 
Refusing  in  the  farm  to  be  confined. 

The  father  wonder'd  at  the  son's  return. 
And  knew  not  whether  to  rejoice  or  mourn  ; 
But  doubtfully  received,  expecting  still 
To  learn  the  secset  causes  of  his  alter' d  will. 
Nor  was  he  long  delay 'd  :  the  first  request 
He  made  was  like  his  brothers  to  be  dress' d, 
And,  as  his  birth  required,  above  the  rest. 

With  ease  his  suit  was  granted  by  his  sire, 
Distinguishing  his  heir  by  rich  attire. 
His  body  thus  adorn'd,  he  next  design'd 
With  liberal  arts  to  cultivate  his  mind  : 
He  sought  a  tutor  of  his  own  accord, 
And  studied  lessons  he  before  abhorr'd. 

Thus  the  man-child  advanced,  and  learn'd  so  fi»4{ 
That  in  short  time  his  equals  he  surpass 'd  : 
His  brutal  manners  from  his  breast  exiled, 
His  mien  he  fashion' d,  and  his  tongue  he  filed  ; 
In  every  exercise  of  all  admired, 
He  seera'd,  nor  only  seem'd,  but  was  inspired  : 
Inspired  by  love,  whose  business  is  to  please  ; 
He  rode,  he  fenced,  he  moved  with  graceful  ease. 
More  famed  for  sense,  for  courtly  carriage  more 
Than  for  his  brutal  folly  kno.wn  befone. 
What  then  of  alter' d  Cyraon  shall  we  say. 
But  that  the  fire,  which  choked  in  ashes  laj, 
A  load  too  heavy  for  his  soul  to  move, 
"Was  upward  blown  below,  and  brush' d  away  bf 
love  ? 

Love  made  an  active  progress  through  his  mind, 
The  dusky  parts  he  clear' d,  the  gross  refined, 


CYMON  AND  IPKIGENIA.  101 

Tlie  drowsy  waked  ;  and,  as  he  went,  impressed 
The  Maker's  image  on  the  human  breast. 
Thus  was  the  man  amended  by  desire, 
And  though  he  loved  perhaps  with  too  much  fire, 
His  father  all  his  faults  with  reason  seann'd, 
And  liked  an  error  of  the  better  hand  ; 
Excused  th'  excess  of  passion  in  his  mind, 
By  flames  too  fierce,  perhaps  too  much  refined. 
So  Cymon,  since  his  sire  indulged  his  will, 
Impetuous  loved,  and  would  be  Cymon  still ; 
Galesus  he  disown' d,  and  chose  to  bear 
The  name  of  fool  confirm'd,  and  bishop'd  by  tht 
fair. 

To  Cipseus  by  his  friends  his  suit  he  moved  ; 
Cipseus,  the  father  of  the  fair  he  loved  : 
But  he  was  pre-engaged  by  former  ties, 
While  Cymon  was  endeavouring  to  be  wise  : 
And  Iphigene,  obliged  by  former  vows, 
Had  given  her  faith  to  wed  a  foreign  spouse. 
Her  sire  and  she  to  Rhodian  Pasiraond, 
Though  both  repenting,  were  by  promise  bound. 
Nor  could  retract ;  and  thus,  as  fate  decreed, 
Though  better  loved,  he  spoke  too  late  to  speed. 

The  doom  was  pass'd,  the  ship  already  sent 
Did  all  his  tardy  diligence  prevent : 
Sigh'd  to  herself  the  fair  unhappy  maid. 
While  stormy  Cymon  thus  in  secret  saifd  ; 
*  The  time  is  come  for  Iphigene  to  find 
The  miracle  she  wrought  upon  my  mind  : 
Her  charms  have  made  me  man,  her  ravish'd  love 
In  rank  shall  place  mc  with  the  bloss'd  above  ; 


193 


FABLES, 


For  mine  by  love,  by  force  she  shall  be  mine, 

Or  death,  if  force  should  fail,  shall  finish  my  design  1 

Resolved  he  said  ;  and  rigg'd  with  speedy  care 
A  vessel  strong,  and  well  equipp'd  for  war  : 
The  secret  ship  with  chosen  friends  he  stored  ; 
And,  bent  to  die  or  conquer,  went  aboard. 
Ambush 'd  he  ky  behind  the  Cyprian  shore, 
Waiting  the  sail  that  all  his  wishes  bore  ; 
Nor  long  expected,  for  the  following  tide 
Sent  out  the  hostile  ship  and  beauteous  bride. 

To  Rhodes  the  rival  bark  directly  steer'd, 
When  Cymon  sudden  at  her  back  appear' d, 
And  stopp'd  her  flight :  then,  standing  on  his  prew* 
In  haughty  terms  he  thus  defied  the  foe  : — 
*  Or  strike  your  sails  at  summons,  or  prepare 
To  prove  the  last  extremities  of  war  !' 
Thus  warn'd,  the  Rhodians  for  the  fight  provide  ; 
Already  were  the  vessels  side  by  side. 
These  obstinate  to  save,  and  those  to  seize  the  bride. 
But  Cymon  soon  his  crooked  grapples  cast, 
Which  with  tenacious  hold  his  foes  embraced, 
And,  arm'd  with  sworyd  and  shield,  amid  the  press  h« 
pass'd. 

Fierce  was  the  fight,  but,  hastening  to  his  prey. 
By  force  the  furious  lover  freed  his  way  : 
Himself  alone  dispersed  the  Rhodian  crew, 
The  weak  disdain' d,  the  valiant  overthrew  ; 
Cheap  conquest  for  his  following  friends  remam'd« 
He  reap'd  the  field,  and  they  but  only  glean'd. 

His  victory  confess' d,  the  foes  retreat. 
And  cast  their  weapons  at  the  victor's  fett 


CYMON  AND  ITHIGENIA.  IQS 

Whom  thus  he cheer'd:  * O  Rhodian  youth!  I  fought 

For  love  alone,  nor  other  booty  sought ; 

Your  lives  are  safe  ;  your  vessel  I  resign, 

Yours  be  your  own,  restoring  what  is  mine. 

In  Iphigene  I  claim  my  rightful  due, 

Robb'd  by  my  rival,  and  detain'd  by  you  : 

Your  Pasimond  a  lawless  bargain  drove, 

The  parent  could  not  sell  the  daughter's  love ; 

Or  if  he  could,  my  love  disdains  the  laws, 

And,  like  a  king,  by  conquest  gains  his  cause  : 

Where  arms  take  place,  all  other  pleas  are  vain, 

Love  taught  me  force,  and  force  shall  love  maintain; 

You,  what  by  strength  you  could  not  keep,  release  ; 

And  at  an  easy  ransom  buy  your  peace,' 

Fear,  on  the  conquer'd  side,  soon  sign'd  th*  ac« 
cord : 

And  Iphigene  to  Cymon  was  restored  : 
While  to  his  arms  the  blushing  bride  he  took. 
To  seeming  s-adness  she  composed  her  look, 
As  if  by  force  subjected  to  his  will ; 
Though  pleased,  dissembling,  and  a  woman  still. 
And  (for  she  wept)  he  wiped  her  falling  tears, 
i    And  pray'd  her  to  dismiss  her  empty  fears  ; 
*  For  yours  I  am,'  he  said,  '  and  have  deserved 
Your  love  much  better,  whom  so  long  I  served, 
Than  he  to  whom  your  formal  father  tied 
Your  vows  ;  and  sold  a  slave,  not  sent  a  bride.* 
Thus,  while  he  spoke,  he  seized  the  willing  prey ; 
As  Paris  bore  the  Spartan  spouse  away. 
Faintly  she  scream' d,  and  even  her  eyes  confessed 
She  rather  would  be  thought,  than  was,  distres«*d. 
o 


194 


Who  now  exults  but  Cymon  in  his  mind  ; 
Vain  hopes  and  empty  joys  of  humankind, 
Proud  of  the  present,  to  the  future  blind  ! 
Secure  of  fate  while  Cymon  ploughs  the  sea, 
And  steers  to  Candy  with  his  conquer'd  prey. 
Scarce  the  third  glass  of  measured  hours  was  rtiA, 
V/hen  like  a  fiery  meteor  sunk  the  sun, 
The  promise  of  a  storm  ;  the  shifting  gales 
Forsake  by  fits  and  fill  the  flaorging  sails  : 
Hoarse  murmurs  of  the  main  from  far  were  beard, 
And  night  came  on,  not  by  degrees  prepared. 
But  all  at  once  ;  at  once  the  winds  arise, 
The  thunders  roll,  the  forky  lightning  flies. 
In  vain  the  master  issues  out  commands. 
In  vain  the  tremV)ling  sailors  ply  their  hands : 
The  tempest  unforeseen  prevents  their  care, 
And  from  the  first  they  labour  in  despair. 
The  giddy  ship,  betwixt  the  winds  and  tides 
Forced  back  and  forwards,  in  the  circle  rides, 
Stunn'd  with  the  different  blows;  then  shoots  amain 
Till  counterbuflf'd  she  stops,  and  sleeps  again. 
Not  more  aghast  the  proud  archangel  fell, 
Plunged  from  the  height  of  Heaven  to  deej-^st  hell. 
Than  stood  the  lover  of  his  lo  /cd  possess' d. 
Now  cursed  the  more,  the  more  he  had  been  bl«5fc.*d 
More  anxious  for  her  danger  than  his  own, 
Death  he  defies,  but  would  be  lost  alone. 

S-ad  Iphigene  to  womanish  complaints 
Adds  pious  prayeis,  and  wearies  all  the  saint* 
Even,  if  she  could,  her  love  she  would  repent ; 
But  since  she  cannot,  dreads  the  punishment : 


CtMON  AND  IPHIGENIA. 


191 


Her  forfeit  faith,  and  Pasimond  betray'd,' 
Are  ever  present,  and  her  crime  upbraid. 
She  blames  herself,  nor  blames  her  lover  less, 
Augments  her  anger  as  her  fears  increase  ; 
From  her  own  back  the  burden  would  remove, 
And  lays  the  load  on  his  ungovern'd  love, 
Which  interposing  durst,  in  Heaven's  despite. 
Invade  and  violate  another's  right : 
The  powers  incensed,  a  while  deferr'd  his  pain, 
And  made  him  master  of  his  vows  in  vain  : 
But  soon  they  punish'd  his  presum^jtuous  pride; 
That  for  his  daring  enterprise  she  died, 
Who  rather  not  resisted  than  complied. 

Then  impotent  of  mind,  with  alter' d  sense, 
She  hugg'd  th'  offender,  and  forgave  th'  offence ; 
Sex  to  the  last :  meantime  with  sails  declined 
The  wandering  vessel  drove  before  the  wind  : 
Toss'd  and  retoss'd,  aloft  and  then  below. 
Nor  port  they  seek,  nor  certain  course  they  know, 
But  every  moment  wait  the  coming  blow. 
Thus  blindly  driven,  by  breaking  day  they  viewed 
The  land  before  them,  and  their  fears  reiiew'd; 
The  land  was  welcome,  but  the  tempest  bore 
The  threaten 'd  ship  against  a  rocky  shore. 
A  winding  bay  v^  as  near  ;  to  this  they  bent, 
And  just  escaped  ;  their  force  already  spent : 
Secure  from  storms,  and  panting  from  the  sea, 
The  land  unknown  at  leisure  they  survey  ; 
And  saw  (but  soon  their  sickly  sight  withdre^v) 
The  rising  towers  of  Rhodes  at  distant  view  j 
And  cursed  the  hostile  shore  of  Pasimond, 
Saved  from  the  seas,  and  shipwreck'd  on  the  ground* 
O  3 


176 


FABLES. 


The  frighted  sailors  tried  their  strength  in  vain 
To  turn  th€  stern,  and  tempt  the  stormy  main  ; 
But  the  stiff  wind  withstood  the  labouring  oar. 
And  forced  them  forward  on  the  fatal  shore  : 
The  crooked  keel  now  bites  the  llhodian  strand, 
And  the  ship  moor'd  constrains  the  crew  to  land. 
Yet  still  they  might  be  safe  because  unknown  ; 
But,  as  ill  fortune  seldom  comes  alone, 
The  vessel  they  dismiss'd  was  driven  before, 
Already  sheiter'd  on  their  native  shore  : 
Known  each,  they  know ;  but  each  with  change  of 
cheer ; 

The  vanquish'd  side  exults  ;  the  victor's  fear 
Not  them  but  theirs,  made  prisoners  ere  they  fight, 
Despairing  conquest,  and  deprived  of  flight. 

The  country  rings  around  with  loud  alarms. 
And  raw  in  fields  the  rude  militia  swarms  ; 
Mouths  without  hands ;   maintaiu'd  at  vast  ex- 
pense, 

Id  peace  a  charge,  in  war  a  weak  defence  : 

Stout  once  a  month  they  r.Mrch,  a  blustering  band, 

And  ever,  but  in  time-s  of  need,  at  hand. 

This  was  the  morn  when,  issuing  on  the  guard, 

Drawn  up  in  rank  and  file  they  stood  prepared 

Of  seeming  arms  to  make  a  short  essay, 

Then  hasten  to  be  drunk,  the  business  of  the  day. 

The  cowards  would  have  fled,  but  that  they  knew 
Themselves  so  many  and  tlicir  foes  so  few : 
But,  crowding  on,  the  last  the  first  impel ; 
Till  overborne  with  weiglit  the  Cyprians  fell. 
Cymon  enslaved,  who  first  the  war  begun, 
And  Iphigene  once  more  is  lost  and  won. 


CYMON  AND  IPHIGEMA. 


Deep  in  a  dungeon  was  the  captive  cast, 
Deprived  of  day,  and  held  in  fetters  fast ; 
His  life  was  only  spared  at  their  request, 
Whom  taken  he  so  nobly  had  released  : 
But  Iphigenia  was  the  ladies'  care  ; 
Each  in  their  turn  address' d  to  treat  the  fair  ; 
While  Pasimond  and  his  the  nuptial  feast  prepare* 

Her  secret  soul  to  Cymon  was  inclined, 
But  she  must  suffer  what  her  fates  assign' d ; 
So  passive  is  the  church  of  womankind  ! 
What  worse  to  Cymon  could  his  fortune  deal, 
RoH'd  to  the  lowest  spoke  of  all  her  wheel  ? 
It  rested  to  dismiss  the  downward  weight, 
Or  raise  him  upward  to  his  former  height ; 
The  latter  pleased  ;  and  love  (conrcern'd  the  moat) 
Prepared  th'  amends  for  what  by  love  he  lost. 

The  sire  of  Pasimond  had  left  a  son, 
Though  younger,  yet  for  courage  early  known, 
Ormisda  call'd  ;  to  whom,  by  promise  tied, 
A  Rhodian  beauty  was  the  destined  bride  : 
Cassandra  was  her  name  ;  above  the  rest 
Renown'd  for  birth,  with  fortune  am.ply  bless'd, 
Lysimachus,  who  ruled  the  Rhodian  state. 
Was  then  by  choice  their  annual  magistrate  : 
He  loved  Cassrmdra  too  with  equal  fire. 
But  fortune  had  not  favour'd  his  desire  ; 
Cross'd  by  her  friends,  by  her  not  disapproved, 
Nor  yet  preferr'd,  or  lik(p  Ormisda  loved  ; 
So  stood  th*  affair  :  some  little  hope  remain'd, 
That  should  his  rival  chance  to  lose,  he  gain'd. 
Meantime  young  Pasimond  his  marriage  prcsi'd, 
Ordaia'd  the  nuptial  day,  prepared  tliv  fea«t  j 


198 


CABLES. 


And  frugally  resolved  (the  charge  to  shun, 
Which  would  be  double  should  he  wed  alone; 
To  join  his  brother's  bridal  with  his  own. 

Lysimachus,  oppress 'd  with  mortal  grief, 
Received  the  news,  and  studied  quick  relief. 
The  fatal  day  approach' d  :  if  force  were  used, 
The  magistrate  his  public  trust  abused  ; 
To  justice  liable,  as  law  required  ; 
For  when  his  office  ceased,  his  power  expired  : 
While  power  remained,  the  means  were  in  his  hand 
By  force  to  seize,  and  then  forsake  the  land. 
Betwixt  extremes  he  knew  not  how  to  move, 
A  slave  to  fame,  but  more  a  slave  to  love  : 
Restraining  others,  yet  himself  not  free, 
Made  impotent  by  power,  debased  by  dignity. 
Both  sides  he  weigh'd  :  but,  after  much  debate, 
The  man  pre  vail' d  above  the  magistrate. 

Love  never  fails  to  master  what  he  finds, 
But  works  a  different  way  in  different  minds, 
The  fool  enlightens  and  the  wise  he  blinds. 
This  youth,  proposing  to  possess  and  'scape, 
Began  in  murder,  to  conclude  in  rape. 
Unpraised  by  me,  though  Heaven  sometime*  may 
bless 

An  impious  act  with  undeserved  success  : 
The  great,  it  seems,  arc  privileged  alone 
To  punish  all  injustice  but  their  own. 
But  here  I  stop,  not  daring  to  proceed ; 
Yet  blush  to  flatter  an  unrighteous  deed  : 
For  crimes  are  bat  permitted,  nat  decueed. 

Resolved  on  force,  his  wit  the  pretor  bent, 
To  find  the  means  that  might  secure  th*  evsr^t ; 


CYMON  AND  IPHIGENIA. 


199 


Not  long  he  labour'd,  for  his  lucky  thought 
In  captive  Cynion  found  the  friend  he  sought ; 
Th*  example  pleased ;   the  cause  and  crime  the 
s^me  ; 

An  injured  lover,  and  a  ravish' d  dame. 

How  much  he  durst  he  knew  by  what  he  dared  ; 

The  less  he  had  to  lose,  the  less  he  cared 

To  manage  loathsome  life,  when  love  was  the  reward. 

This  ponder' d  well,  and,  fix'd  on  his  intent, 
In  depth  of  night  he  for  the  prisoner  sent ; 
In  secret  sent,  the  public  view  to  shun, 
Then  with  a  sober  smile  he  thus  begun  : 
*  The  powers  above,  who  bounteously  bestow 
Their  gift  and  graces  on  mankind  below, 
Yet  prove  our  merit  first ;  nor  blindly  give 
To  such  as  are  not  worthy  to  receive : 
For  valour  and  for  virtue  they  provide 
I'heir  due  reward,  but  first  they  must  be  tried. 
These  fruitful  seeds  within  your  mind  they  sow*d, 
*Twas  yours  t'  improve  the  talent  they  bestow'd  : 
They  gave  you  to  be  born  of  noble  kind. 
They  gave  you  love  to  lighten  up  your  mind, 
And  purge  the  grosser  parts  :  they  gave  you  care 
To  please,  and  courage  to  deserve  the  fair. 

*  Thus  far  they  tried  you,  and  by  proof  they  found 
The  grain  intrusted  in  a  grateful  ground  : 
But  still  the  great  experiment  remain'd. 
They  suffer' d  you  to  lose  the  prize  you  gain'd  ; 
That  you  might  learn  the  gift  was  theirs  aloae  : 
And  wiien  restored  to  them  the  blessing  own. 
Restored  it  soon  will  be  ;  the  mea'ns  prepared, 
The  diflSculty  sraooth'd,  the  danger  shared; 


200 


FABLES. 


Be  but  j'ourself,  the  care  to  me  resign, 
Then  Iphigene  is  yours,  Cassandra  mine. 
Your  rival  Pasimond  pursues  your  life, 
Impatient  to  revenge  his  ruvish'd  wife, 
But  yet  not  his  ;  to-morrow  is  behind, 
And  Love  our  fortunes  in  one  band  has  join'd : 
Two  brothers  are  our  foes  ;  Ormiada  mine. 
As  much  declared  as  Pasimond  is  thine  : 
To-morrow  must  their  common  vows  be  tied  ; 
With  Love  to  friend,  and  Fortune  for  our  guide. 
Let  both  resolve  to  die,  or  each  redeem  a  bride. 

•  Right  I  have  none,  nor  hast  thou  much  to  plead ; 
*Tis  force,  when  done,  must  justify  the  deed  : 
Our  task  perform'd,  we  next  prepare  for  flight ; 
And  let  the  losers  talk  in  vain  of  right : 
We  with  the  fair  will  sail  before  the  wind, 
If  they  are  grieved,  I  leave  the  laws*  behind. 
Speak  thy  resolves ;  if  now  thy  courage  droop, 
Despair  in  prison,  and  abandon  hope  ; 
But  if  thou  dares';  in  arms  thy  love  regain  ' 
(For  liberty  without  thy  love  were  vain),  ; 
ITien  second  my  design  to  seize  the  prey  t  < 
Or  lead  to  second  rape,  for  well  thou  know'st  tht  : 
way.' 

Said  Cymon,  overjoy'd,  *  Do  thou  propose  j 
The  means  to  light,  and  only  show  the  foes  ; 
For  from  the  first,  when  love  had  fired  my  mind| 
Resoh-^d  I  left  the  care  of  life  behind.' 

To  this  the  bold  Lysimachus  replied, 
*  Let  Heaven  be  neuter,  and  the  sword  decide : 
The  spousals  are  prepared,  already  play 
The  minstrels,  and  provoke  the  tardy  day : 


CTMON  a:  D  IPniGEMIA. 


By  this  the  brides  are  waked,  their  grooms  arc 
dress'd ; 

All  Rhodes  is  suramonM  to  the  nuptial  feast, 
All  but  myself,  the  sole  unbidden  guest. 
Unbidden  though  I  am,  1  will  be  there, 
And,  join'd  by  thee,  intend  to  joy  the  fair. 

'  Now  hear  the  rest ;  when  day  resigns  the  light, 
And  cheerful  torches  gild  the  jolly  night, 
Be  ready  at  my  call ;  my  chosen  few 
With  arms  administer' d  shall  aid  thy  crew. 
Then  entering  unexpected  will  we  seize 
Our  destined  prey,  from  men  dissolved  in  ease. 
By  wine  disabled,  unprepared  for  fight ; 
And  hastening  to  the  seas  suborn  our  flight : 
The  seas  are  ours,  for  I  command  the  fort, 
A  ship  well  mann'd  expects  us  in  the  port : 
If  they  or  if  their  friends  the  prize  contest. 
Death  shall  attend  the  man  who  dares  resist.* 

It  pleased  !  the  prisoner  to  his  hold  retired. 
His  troop  with  equal  emulation  fired, 
All  fix'd  to  fight,  and  all  their  wonted  work  required. 

The  sun  arose  ;  the  streets  were  throng' d  around, 
The  palace  open'd,  and  the  posts  were  crown'd  : 
The  double  bridegroom  at  the  door  attends 
Th'  expected  spouse,  and  entertains  the  friends. 
They  meet,  they  lead  to  church  ;  the  priests  invoke 
The  Powers,  and  feed  the  flames  with  fragrant 
smoke. 

This  done,  they  feast ;  and  at  the  close  of  night 
By  kindled  torches  vary  their  delight, 
These  lead  the  lively  dance,  and  tiose  the  brimming; 
bowls  invite. 


202 


VABLES. 


NoAv  at  th'  appeinted  place  and  hour  assigned, 
With  souls  resolved,  the  ravishers  were  join'd. 
Three  bands  are  form'd  :  the  first  is  sent  before, 
To  favour  the  retreat,  and  guard  the  shore  : 
The  second  at  the  palace-gate  is  placed, 
And  up  the  lofty  stairs  ascends  the  last : 
A  peaceful  troop  ithey  seem  with  shining  vests, 
But  coats  of  mail,  beneath,  secure  their  breasts. 
Dauntless  they  CRter,  Cymon  at  their  head, 
And  find  the  feast  renew'd,  tho  table  spread  : 
Sweet  voices,  mix'd  with  instrumental  sounds, 
Ascend  the  vaulted  roof,  the  vaulted  roof  rebounds: 
When,  like  the  harpies,  rushing  through  the  hall 
Tlie  sudden  troop  appears,  the  tables  fall. 
Their  smoking  load  is  on  the  pavement  thrown  ; 
Each  ravisher  prepares  to  seize  his  own  : 
The  brides,  invaded  with  a  rude  embrace, 
Shriek  out  for  aid,  confusion  fills  the  place  : 
Quick  to  redeem  the  prey  their  plighted  lords 
Advance,  the  palace  glea'his  with  shining  swords. 

But  >ate  is  all  defence,  and  succour  vaia  j 
The  rape  is  made,  the  ravishers  remain  ; 
Two  sturdy  slaves  were  only  sent  before, 
To  bear  the  purchased  p.rize  in  safety  to  the  shore, 
The  troop  retires,  the  lovers  close  the  rear, 
With  forward  faces,  not  confessing  fear  : 
Backward  they  move,  but  scorn  their  pace  to  mend  ; 
Then  sek  the  stairs,  and  with  slow  haste  descend. 

Fierce  Pasimond,  their  passage  to  prevent, 
Thrust  full  on  Cymon's  back  in  his  descent ; 
The  blade  return* d,  unbathed,  and  to  the  handlj 
bent: 


CTMON  AND  IPHIGEMA. 


203 


Stout  Cjrmon  soon  remounts,  and  cleft  in  two 
His  rival's  bead  with  one  descending  blow  : 
And  as  the  next  in  rank  Ormisda  stood, 
He  turn'd  the  point :  the  sword,  inured  to  Hood, 
Bored  his  unguarded  breast,  which  pour'd  a  purple 
flood. 

With  vow'd  revenge,  the  gathering  crowd  pursues, 
The  ravishers  turn  head,  the  fight  renews  ; 
The  hall  is  heap'd  with  corps  ;  the  sprinkled  gore 
Besmears  the  walls,  and  floats  the  marble  floor. 
Dispersed  at  length,  the  drunken  squadron  flies, 
The  victors  to  ♦.heir  vessel  bear  the  prize, 
And  hear,  behind,  loud  groans  and  lamentable  cries. 

The  crew  with  merry  shouts  their  anchors  weigh, 
Then  ply  their  oars,  and  brush  the  buxom  sea ; 
While  troops  of  gather'd  Rhodians  crowd  the  quay. 
What  should  the  people  do,  when  left  alone  ? 
The  governor  and  government  are  gone  ; 
The  public  wealth  to  foreign  parts  convey' d  ; 
Some  troops  disbanded,  and  the  rest  unpaid. 
Rhodes  is  the  sovereign  of  the  sea  no  more  ; 
Their  ships  unrigg'd,  and  spent  their  naval  store; 
They  neither  could  defend,  nor  can  pursue. 
But  grinn'd  their  teeth,  and  cast  a  helpless  view  ; 
In  vain  with  darts  a  distant  war  they  try, 
Short  and  more  short  the  missive  weapons  fly. 
Meanwhile  the  ravis^iers  their  crimes  enjoy, 
And  flying  sails  and  sweeping  oars  employ  ; 
The  cliff's  of  Rhodes  in  little  space  are  lost, 
Jove's  isle  they  seek  :  nor  Jove  denies  his  coast. 

In  safety  landed  on  the  Candian  shore, 
With  generous  wines  their  spirits  they  restore  ; 


304 


FABLES. 


There  Cymon*with  his  Rhodian  friend  reside*. 
Both  court  and  wed,  at  once,  the  willing  brides. 
A  war  ensues,  the  Cretans  own  their  cause, 
Stiff  to  defend  their  hospitable  laws : 
Both  parties  lose  by  turns,  and  neither  wins. 
Till  peace  propounded  by  a  truce  begins. 
The  kindred  of  the  slain  forgive  the  deed. 
But  a  short  exile  must  for  show  precede  ; 
The  term  expired,  from  Candia  they  remove  i 
And  happy  each,  at  hoxnei  ^joya  hU  love* 


THE    WIFE    OF  BATH. 


HER  TALE. 


In  days  of  old,  when  Arthur  fill'd  the  throoe, 
Whose  acts  and  tame  to  foreign  lands  were  blown, 
The  king  ©f  elves  and  little  fairy  queen 
Gambol' d  on  heaths,  and  dan-ced  on  every  green : 
And  where  the  jolly  troop  had  led  the  round, 
The  grass  unbidden  rose,  and  mark'd  the  ground : 
Nor  darkling  did  they  dance,  the  silver  light 
Of  Phoebe  served  to  guide  their  steps  aright, 
And,  with  their  tripjnng  pleased,  prolong'd  the  night. 
Her  beams  they  follow' d,  where  at  full  she  play'd, 
Nor  longer  than  she  shed  her  horns  they  staid  ; 
From  thence  with  airy  flight  to  foreign  lands  con« 
vey'd. 

Above  the  rest  our  Britain  held  they  dear ; 
More  solemnly  they  kept  their  sabbaths  here. 
And  made  more  spacious  rings,  and  revel' d  half  tha 
year. 

I  speak  of  ancient  times  :  for  now  the  swaia 
Returning  late  may  pass  the  woods  in  vain, 
Aud  never  hope  to  see  the  nightly  train : 


206 


FABLES. 


In  vain  |he  dairy  now  with  mint  is  dress' d, 

The  dairy  maid  expects  no  fairy  guest 

To  skim  the  bowls,  and  after  pay  the  feast. 

She  sighs  and  shakes  her  empty  shoes  in  vain, 

No  silver  penny  to  reward  her  pain  : 

For  priests,  with  prayers  and  other  goodly  geer. 

Have  made  the  merry  goblins  disappear  ; 

And  where  they  play'd  their  merry  pranks  before 

Have  sprinkled  holy  water  on  the  floor  : 

And  friars,  that  through  the  wealthy  regions  run 

Thick  as  the  motes  that  twinkle  in  the  sun, 

Resort  to  farmers  rich,  and  bless  their  halls, 

And  exorcise  the  beds,  and  cross  the  walls. 

This  makes  the  fairy  quires  forsake  the  place, 

When  once  'tis  hallow 'd  with  the  rites  of  grace  : 

But  in  the  walks  where  wicked  elves  have  been, 

The  learning  of  the  parish  now  is  seen, 

The  midnight  parson  posting  o'er  the  green. 

With  gown  tuck'd  up  to  wakes  ;  for  Sunday  nextj 

With  humming  ale  encouraging  his  text ; 

Nor  wants  the  holy  leer  to  country  girl  betwixt. 

From  fiends  and  imps  he  set  the  village  free, 

There  haunts  not  any  incubus  but  he. 

The  maids  and  women  need  no  danger  fear 

To  walk  by  night,  and  sanctity  so  near : 

For  by  some  haycock,  or  some  shady  thorn, 

He  bids  his  beads  both  even  song  and  morn. 

It  so  befell,  in  this  King  Arthur's  reign, 
A  lusty  knight  was  pricking  o'er  the  plain  ; 
A  bachelor  he  was,  and  of  the  courtly  train. 
It  happen'd  as  he  rode,  a  damsel  gay 
In  russet  robes  to  market  took  her  way  | 


THE  WIFE  OF  BITH's  TALE.       J  207 

Soon  on  the  girl  he  cast  an  amorous  eye, 
So  straight  she  walk'd,  and  on  her  pasterns  high  ; 
If  seeing  her  behind  he  liked  her  pace, 
Now  turning  short,  he  better  liked  her  fa.-e  : 
He  lights  in  haste,  and,  full  of  youthful  fire, 
By  force  accomplish'd  his  obscene  desire. 
This  done,  away  he  rode,  not  unespied. 
For  swarming  at  his  back  the  country  cried  ; 
And  once  in  view  thny  never  lost  the  sight, 
But,  seized  and  pinion'd,  brought  to  court  the 
knight. 

Then  courts  of  kings  were  held  in  high  renown, 
Ere  made  the  common  brothels  of  the  town  ; 
There,  virgins  honourable  vows  received, 
But  chaste  as  maids  in  monasteries  lived. 
The  king  himself,  to  nuptial  ties  a  slave. 
No  bad  example  to  his  poets  gave  : 
And  they,  not  bad,  but  in  a  vicious  age. 
Had  not,  to  please  the  prince,  debauch 'd  the  stage, 

Now  what  should  Arthur  do  ?  he  loved  the  knight* 
But  sovereign  monarchs  are  the  source  of  right ! 
Moved  by  the  damsel's  tears  and  common  cry, 
He  doom'd  the  brutal  ravisher — to  die. 
But  fair  Geneura  rose  in  his  defence. 
And  p<*ay'd  so  hard  for  mercy  from  the  prince 
That  to  his  queen  the  king  th'  offender  gave, 
And  left  it  in  her  power  to  kill  or  save. 
This  gracious  act  the  ladies  all  approve, 
Who  thought  it  much  a  man  should  die  for  love  ; 
And  with  their  mistress  join'd  in  close  debate 
(Covering  their  kindness  with  dissembled  hate\ 
If  not  to  free  him,  to  prolong  his  fate. 


208 


FABLES. 


At  last  agreed,  they  call'd  him  by  consent 

Before  the  queen  and  female  parliament. 

And  the  fair  speaker,  rising  from  the  chair, 

Did  thus  the  judgment  of  the  house  declare  : 

*  Sir  knight,  thougli  I  have  ask'd  thy  life,  yet  BtiO 

Thy  destiny  depends  upon  my  will ; 

Nor  hast  thou  other  surety  than  the  grace 

Not  due  to  thee  from  our  offended  race. 

But  as  our  kind  is  of  a  softer  mould, 

And  cannot  blood  without  a  sigh  behold, 

I  grant  thee  life  ;  reserving  still  the  power 

To  take  the  forfeit  when  I  see  ray  hour  : 

Unless  thy  answer  to  my  next  demand 

Shall  set  thee  free  from  our  avenging  hand. 

The  question,  whose  solution  I  require. 

Is — "  what  the  sex  of  women  most  desire  ?'* 

In  this  dispute  thy  judges  are  at  strife  ; 

Beware  ;  for  on  thy  wit  depends  thy  life. 

Yet,  lest  surprised,  unknowing  what  to  say, 

Thou  damn  thyself,  we  give  thee  further  day  ; 

A  year  is  thine  to  wander  at  thy  will ; 

And  learn  from  others,  if  thou  want'st  the  skill. 

But,  not  to  hold  our  proffer  turn'd  in  scorn, 

Good  sureties  will  we  have  for  thy  return  : 

That  at  the  time  prefix' d  thou  shalt  obey, 

And  at  thy  pledges'  peril  keep  thy  day.' 

Woe  was  the  knight  at  this  severe  command  : 
But  well  he  knew  'twas  bootless  to  withstand : 
The  terms  accepted  as  the  fair  ordain, 
He  put  in  bail  for  his  return  again, 
And  promised  answer  at  the  day  assign' d, 
The  best,  with  Heaven^)  assistance  he  could  find* 


THE  •WIFE  or  BATxi's  TALE.  209 

His  leave  thus  taken,  on  his  way  he  >vent 
With  heavy  heart,  and  full  of  discontent ; 
Misdoubting  much,  and  fearful  of  th'  event. 
'Twas  hard  the  truth  of  such  a  point  to  find, 
As  was  not  yet  agreed  among  the  kind. 
Thus  on  he  went ;  still  anxious  more  and  more, 
Ask'd  all  he  met,  and  knock'd  at  every  door ; 
Inquired  of  men  ;  but  made  his  chief  request 
To  learn  from  women  what  they  loved  the  best. 
They  answer'd  each  according  to  her  mind 
To  please  herself,  not  all  the  female  kind. 
One  was  for  wealth,  another  was  for  place  ; 
Crones,  old  and  ugly,  M'ish'd  a  better  face  : 
The  widow's  wish  was  oftentimes  to  wed  ; 
The  wanton  maids  were  all  for  sport  a  bed. 
Some  said  the  sex  were  pleased  with  handscme 
lies. 

And  some  gross  flattery  loved  without  disguise : 
*  Truth  is  (says  one),  he  seldom  fails  to  win 
Who  flatters  well,  for  that's  our  darling  sin  ; 
But  long  attendance,  and  a  duteous  mind, 
Will  work  even  with  the  wisest  of  the  kind.* 
One  thought  the  sex's  prime  felicity 
Was  from  the  bonds  of  wedlock  to  be  free  : 
Their  pleasures,  hours,  and  actions  all  their  own. 
And  uncontrol'd  to  give  account  to  none. 
Some  wish  a  husband-fool ;  but  such  are  cursed, 
For  fools  perverse  of  husbands  are  the  worst : 
All  women  would  be  counted  chaste  and  wise, 
Nor  should  our  spouses  see  but  with  our  eyes  ; 
For  fools  wLi  prate,  and  though  they  want  the  wit 
To  find  close  faults,  yet  open  blots  will  hit ; 


210 


FABLES. 


Thovgli  better  for  their  ease  to  h-oM  their  tongue, 
Foi  fvomankind  was  never  in  the  wrong. 
So  *ioise  ensues,  and  quarrels  last  for  life ; 
The  wife  abhors  the  fool,  the  fool  the  wife  ; 
And  some  men  say  that  great  delight  have  we, 
To  be  for  truth  extol' d,  and  secrecy ; 
And  constant  in  one  purpose  still  to  dwell ; 
And  not  our  husband's  counsel  to  reveal. 
But  that's  a  fable,  for  our  sex  is  frail, 
Inventing  rather  than  not  tell  a  tale. 
Like  leaky  sieves  no  secrets  we  can  hold, 
Witness  the  famous  tale  that  Ovid  told. 

*  Midas  the  king,  as  in  his  book  appears, 
By  Phoebus  was  endow'd  with  ass's  ears, 
Which  under  his  long  locks  he  well  conceal'd, 
As  irionarchs'  vices  must  not  be  reveal'd, 
For  fear  the  people  have  them  in  the  wind, 
Who  long  ago  were  neither  dumb  nor  blind ; 
Nor  apt  to  think  from  heaven  their  title  springs, 
Sirrce  Jove  and  ]\Iars  left  off  begetting  kings. 
This  Midas  knew  ;  and  durst  communicate 
To  none  but  to  his  wife  his  ears  of  state : 
One  must  be  trusted,  and  he  thought  her  lit, 
As  passing  prudent,  and  a  parlous  wit. 
To  this  sagacious  confessor  he  went, 
And  told  her  what  a  gift  the  gods  had  sent : 
But  told  it  under  matrimonial  seal, 
With  strict  injunction  never  to  reveal. 
The  secret  heard,  she  plighted  him  her  troth 
(And  sacred  sure  is  every  woman's  oath). 
The  royal  malady  should  rest  unknown, 
Both  for  her  husband's  honour  and  her  own ; 


THE  WIFE  OF  BATH's  TALE. 

But  ne'ertheless  she  pined  with  discontent, 
The  counsel  rumbled  till  it  found  a  vent. 
The  thing  she  knew  she  was  obliged  to  hide  j 
By  interest  and  by  oath  the  wife  was  tied ; 
But  if  she  told  it  not,  the  woman  died. 
Loath  to  betray  a  husband  and  a  prince, 
But  she  must  burst  or  blab :  and  no  pretence 
Of  honour  tied  her  tongue  from  self-defence. 
A  marshy  ground  coramodiously  was  near  ; 
Thither  she  ran,  and  held  her  breath  for  fear, 
Lest  if  a  word  she  spoke  of  any  thing, 
That  word  might  be  the  secret  of  the  king. 
Thus  full  of  counsel  to  the  fen  she  went. 
Griped  all  the  way,  and  longing  for  a  vent. 
Arrived,  by  pure  necessity  compcll'd, 
On  her  majestic  marrow-bones  she  kneel'd  : 
Then  to  the  water's  brink  S'le  iaid  her  head, 
And,  as  a  bittern  bumps  withhi  a  reed, 
'*  To  thee  alone,  O  lake !  (she  said),  I  tell, 
And,  as  thy  queen,  command  thee  to  conceal ; 
Beneath  his  lock  the  king  my  husband  wears 
A  goodly  royal  pair  of  ass's  ears! — 
Now  I  have  eased  my  bosom  of  the  pain, 
Till  the  next  longing  fit  return  again."  ' 

Thus  through  a  woman  was  the  secret  known 
Tell  us,  and  in  effect  you  tell  the  town. 
But  to  ijjy  tale  : — The  knight  in  heavy  cheer, 
Wandering  in  vain  had  now  consumed  the  year ; 
One  day  was  only  left  to  solve  the  doubt, 
Yet  knew  no  more  than  when  he  first  set  out. 
But  home  he  must :  and,  as  the  award  had  been 
Yield  up  his  body  captive  to  the  queen. 


812 


FABLES. 


In  this  despairing  state  he  happ'd  to  rids, 
As  fortune  led  him,  by  a  forest  side  : 
Lonely  the  vale,  and  fall  of  horror  stood, 
Brown  with  the  shade  of  a  religious  wood  ; 
When  full  before  him  at  the  noon  of  night 
(The  moon  was  up  and  shot  a  gleamy  light), 
He  saw  a  quire  of  ladies  in  a  round. 
That,  featly  footing,  seem*d  to  skim  the  grounds 
Thus  dancing  hand  in  hand,  so  light  they  were, 
He  knew  not  where  they  trod,  on  earth  or  air. 
At  speed  he  drove,  and  came  a  sudden  guest, 
In  hope  where  many  women  were,  at  least 
Some  one  by  chance  might  answer  his  request. 
But  faster  than  his  horse  the  ladies  flew, 
And  in  a  trice  were  vanish' d  out  of  view. 
One  only  hag  remain' d  :  but  foul.e.'-  far 
Than  grandame  apes  in  Indian  forests  are  : 
Against  a  wither' d  oak  she  lean'd  her  weight, 
Propp'd  on  her  trusty  staff,  not  half  upright, 
And  dropp'd  an  awkward  curtsy  to  the  knight. 
Then  said,  *  What  make  you,  sir,  so  late  abroad 
Without  a  guide,  and  this  no  beaten  road  ? 
Or  want  you  aught  that  here  you  hope  to  find. 
Or  travel  for  some  trouble  in  your  mind  ? 
The  last  I  guess  ;  and,  if  I  read  aright. 
Those  of  our  sex  are  bound  to  serve  a  knight : 
Perhaps  good  counsel  may  your  grief  assuage, 
Then  tell  your  pain  ;  for  wisdom  is  in  age.'  [know 
To  this  the  knight ;  *  Good  mother,  would  yctt 
The  secret  cause  and  spring  of  all  my  woe  ? 
My  lirf"c  must  with  to-morrow*s  light  expijre. 
Unless  I  tell  what  women  most  desire : 


THE  WIFE  OP  BATH'S  TALE. 


219 


Now  could  you  help  me  at  this  hard  essay, 
Or  for  your  inborn  goodness  or  for  pay  ; 
Yours  is  my  life,  redeem'd  by  your  advice, 
Ask  what  you  please,  and  I  will  pay  the  price.* 
*  Plight  me  thy  faith  (quoth  sho),  that  what  I  ask, 
Thy  danger  over  and  perform 'd  the  task, 
That  shalt  thou  give  for  hire  of  thy  demand, 
Here  take  thy  oath,  and  seal  it  on  my  hand  : 
I  warrant  thee,  on  peril  of  my  life,  [wife  : 

Thy  words  shall  please  both  widow,  maid,  and 
The  proudest  kerchief  of  the  court  shall  rest 
Well  satisfied  of  what  they  love  the  best.' 

More  words  there  needed  not,  to  move  the  knight 
To  take  her  offer,  and  his  truth  to  plight. 
With  tkat  she  spread  her  mantle  on  the  ground, 
And,  first  enquiring  whither  he  was  bound, 
Bade  him  not  fear,  though  long  and  rough  the  way,, 
At  court  he  should  arrive  ere  break  of  day  ; 
His  horse  should  find  the  way  without  a  guide, 
She  said  :  with  fury  they  began  to  ride  ; 
He  on  the  midst,  the  beldam  at  the  side. 
The  horse  what  devil  drove,  I  cannot  tell, 
But  only  this,  they  sped  their  journey  well : 
And  all  the  way  the  crone  inform'd  the  knight, 
How  he  should  answer  the  demand  aright. 

To  court  they  came  :  the  news  was  quickly  spread 
Of  his  returning  to  redeem  his  head. 
The  female  senate  was  assembled  soon. 
With  all  the  mob  of  women  in  the  town  : 
The  queen  sat  lord- chief- justice  of  the  hall, 
And  bade  the  crier  cite  the  criminal. 


214 


FABLES. 


Tl^  knight  appear'd,  and  silence  they  proclaim  I 
Then  first  the  culprit  answer'd  to  his  name : 
And  after  forms  of  law,  was  last  required 
To  name  the  thing  that  women  most  desired, 
Th'  offender,  taught  his  lesson  by  the  way, 
And  by  his  counsel  order' d  what  to  say. 
Thus  bold  began  :  '  My  lady  liege  (said  he), 
What  all  your  sex  desire  is  Sovereignty  ! 
The  wife  affects  her  husband  to  command  ; 
All  must  be  hers,  both  money,  house,  and  land. 
The  maids  are  mistresses  even  in  their  name  j 
And  of  their  servants  full  dominion  claim. 
This,  at  the  peril  of  my  head,  I  say, 
A  blunt  plain  truth — the  sex  aspires  to  sway  ; 
You,  to  rule  all ;  while  we,  like  slaves,  obey.' 

There  was  not  one,  or  widow,  maid,  or  wife. 
But  said  the  knight  had  well  deserved  his  life. 
Even  fair  Geneura,  with  a  blush,  confess' d 
The  man  had  found  what  women  love  the  best. 

Upstarts  the  beldam,  who  was  there  unseen, 
And,  reverence  made,  accosted  thus  the  queen : 
•  My  liege  (said  she),  before  the  court  arise. 
May  I,  poor  wretch,  find  favour  in  your  eyes, 
To  grant  my  just  request :  *twas  I  who  taughfc 
The  knight  this  answer,  and  inspired  his  thought 
None  but  a  woman  could  a  man  direct 
To  tell  us  women  what  we  most  affect. 
But  first  I  swore  him  on  his  knightly  troth 
(And  here  demand  performance  of  his  oath). 
To  grant  the  boon  that  next  I  should  desire ; 
He  gave  his  faith,  and  I  expect  my  hire  : 


TnE  WIFE  OP  bath's  TALE.  21* 

Ky  promise  is  fulfill' d  :  I  saved  his  life, 
And  claim  his  debt — to  take  me  for  his  wife.* 
The  knight  was  ask'd,  nor  could  his  oath  deny, 
But  hoped  thej*  would  not  force  him  to  comply.. 
The  women,  Mho  would  rather  wrest  the  laws 
Than  let  a  sister-plaintiff  lose  the  cause 
(As  judges  on  the  bench  more  gracious  are, 
And  more  attent  to  brothers  of  tht'^bar). 
Cried,  one  and  all,  the  suppliant  should  have  rig'irt, 
And  to  the  grandame-hag  adjudged  the  knight. 

In  vain  he  sigh'd,  and  oft  with  tears  desired 
Some  reasonable  suit  might  be  required. 
But  still  the  crone  was  constant  to  her  note. 
The  more  he  spoke,  the  more  she  stretch'd  her 
throat : 

In  vain  he  prutfer'd  all  his  goods,  to  save 
His  body,  destined  to  that  living  grave. 
The  liquorish  hag  rejects  the  pelf  with  scorn, 
And  nothing  but  the  man  would  serve  her  turn* 
'  Nor  all  the  wealth  of  eastern  kings  (said  she) 
Have  power  to  j)art  my  plighted  love  and  me  : 
And,  old  and  ugly  as  I  am,  and  poor, 
Yet  ne^'er  will  I  break  the  faith  I  swore  ; 
For  mine  thou  art  by  promise  during  life, 
And  I,  thy  loving  and  obedient  wife.' 

*  My  love  I  nay,  rather  my  damnation  thou 
(iJaid  he)  ;  nor  am  I  bound  to  keep  my  vow  ; 
The  fiend,  thy  sire  has  sent  thee  from  below, 
Else  how  couidst  thou  my  secret  sorrows  know  ? 
Avaunt,  old  witch  !  for  I  renounce  thy  bed  : 
The  qaeen  may  take  the  forfeit  of  my  head. 
Ere  aoy  of  my  race  so  foul  a  crone  shall  wed  I* 


218 


FABLES. 


Both  heard ;  the  judge  pronounced  against  the 
knight ; 

So  was  he  married  in  his  own  despite 
And  all  day  after  hid  him  as  an  owl, 
Not  able  to  sustain  a  sight  so  foul. 
Perhaps  the  reader  thinks  I  do  him  wrong, 
To.pass  the  marriage  feast  and  nuptial  song: 
Mirth  there  was  none,  the  man  was  cL-la-mortf 
And  little  courage  had  to  make  his  court. 
To  bed  they  went,  the  bridegroom  and  the  bride ; 
Was  never  such  an  ill  pair'd  couple  tied. 
Restless  he  toss'd  and  tumbled  to  and  fro, 
And  roU'd,  and  wriggled  further  off,  for  woe. 
The  good  old  wife  lay  smiling  by  his  side, 
And  caught  him  in  her  quivering  arms,  and  cried, 
*  When  you  my  ravish 'd  predecessor  saw, 
You  were  not  then  become  this  man  of  straw  ; 
Had  you  been  such,  you  might  have  'scaped  the  law« 
Is  this  the  custom  of  king  Arthur's  court  ? 
Are  all  round  table  knights  of  such  a  sort  ? 
Remember  I  am  she  who  saved  your  life. 
Your  loving,  lawful,  and  complying  wife  ; 
Not  thus  you  swore  in  your  unhappy  hour, 
Nor  I  for  this  return  employ' d  my  power. 
In  time'of  need  I  was  your  faithful  triend ; 
Nor  did  I  since,  nor  ever  will,  offend, 
Believe  me,  my  loved  lord,  'tis  much  unkind; 
What  fury  has  possess' d  your  alter' d  mind  ? 
Thus  on  my  wedding  night — without  pretence- 
Come  turn  this  way,  or  tell  me  my  oflFence. 
If  not  your  wife,  let  reason's  rule  persuade, 
Name  but  my  fault,  amends  shall  soon  be  made*' 


THB  WIFE  OF  BATH'S  TALE.      "  217 


*  Amends  !  nay,  that's  impossible  (said  he) ; 
W^hat  change  of  age  or  ugliness  can  be ! 
Or,  could  Medea's  magic  mend  thy  face, 
Thou  art  descended  from  so  mean  a  race 
That  never  knight  was  match' d  with  such  disgrace. 
What  wonder,  madam,  if  I  move  my  side, 
When,  if  I  turn,  I  turn  to  such  a  bride.' 

'  And  is  this  all  that  troubles  you  so  sore  !' 

*  And  what  the  devil  couldst  thou  wish  me  more  ?* 

*  Ah,  benedicite  !  (replied  the  crone 

Then  cause  of  just  complaining  have  you  none. 

The  remedy  to  this  were  soon  applied, 

Would  you  be  like  the  bridegroom  to  the  bride  ; 

But,  for  you  say  a  long-descended  race. 

And  wealth,  and  dignity,  and  power,  and  place. 

Make  gentlemen  ;  and  that  your  high  degree 

Is  much  disparaged  to  be  match' d  with  me  ; 

Know  this,  my  lord,  nobility  of  blood 

Is  but  a  glittering  and  fallacious  good  : 

The  nobleman  is  he  whose  noble  mind  [kind. 

Is  fiU'd  with  inborn  worth,  unborrow'd  from  hi> 

The  King  of  Heaven  was  in  a  manger  laid  ; 

And  took  his  earth  but  from  an  humble  maid  : 

Then  what  can  birth  or  mortal  men  bestow, 

Since  floods  no  higher  than  their  fountains  flow  ? 

We,  who  for  name  and  empty  honour  strive, 

Our  true  nobility  from  him  derive. 

Your  ancestors,  who  puff  your  mind  with  pride, 

And  vast  estates  to  mighty  titles  tied. 

Did  not  your  honour,  but  their  own,  advance ; 

For  virtue  cosacu  not  by  inheritance. 


21S 


rABLES* 


If  you  traiineate  from  your  father's  mind. 

What  are  you  else  but  of  a  bastard  kind  ? 

Do  as  your  great  progenitors  have  done, 

And  by  their  virtues  prove  yourself  their  901 , 

No  father  can  infuse  or  wit  or  grace  ; 

A  mother  comes  across,  and  mars  the  race  : 

A  grandsire  or  a  grandame  taints  the  blood, 

And  seldom  three  descents  continue  good. 

Were  virtue  by  descent,  a  noble  name 

Could  never  villanize  his  father's  fame  : 

But,  as  the  first,  the  last  of  all  the  line 

Would,  like  the  sun,  even  in  descending,  shine. 

Take  fire,  and  bear  it  to  the  darkest  house. 

Betwixt  King  Arthur's  court  and  Caucasus  ; 

If  you  depart,  the  flame  shall  still  remain. 

And  the  bright  blaze  enlighten  all  the  plain  : 

Nor,  till  the  fuel  perish,  can  decay, 

By  nature  form'd  on  things  combustible  to  prey. 

Such  is  not  man,  who,  mixing  better  seed 

With  worse,  begets  a  base  degenerate  breed  : 

The  bad  corrupts  the  good,  and  leaves  behind 

No  trace  of  all  the  great  begetter's  mind. 

The  father  sinks  within  his  son,  we  see, 

And  often  rises  in  the  third  degree  ; 

If  better  luck  a  better  mother  give  : 

Chance  gave  us  being,  and  by  chance  we  live. 

Such  as  our  atoms  were,  even  such  are  we, 

Or  call  it  chance  or  strong  necessity  ; 

Thus,  loaded  with  dead  weight,  the  will  is  free. 

And  thus  it  needs  must  be :  for  seed  conjoin' d 

Lets  into  nature's  work  th'  imperfect  kind: 


THE  WITB  OF  BATH's  TALE. 


219 


But  fire,  th'  enlivencr  of  the  general  frame, 

Is  one,  its  operation  still  the  same. 

Its  principle  is  in  itself :  while  ours 

Works,  as  confederates  war,  with  mingled  powers  ; 

Or  man,  or  woman,  whichsoever  fails  ; 

And  oft  the  vigour  of  the  worst  prevails. 

Ether  with  sulphur  blended  alters  hue. 

And  casts  a  dusky  gleam  of  Sodom  blue. 

Thus  in  a  brute  their  ancient  honour  ends, 

And  the  fair  mermaid  in  the  fish  descends : 

The  line  is  gone — no  longer  duke  or  earl, 

But,  by  himself  degraded,  turns  a  churl. 

Nobility  of  blood  is  but  renown 

Of  thy  great  fathers  by  their  virtue  knovm. 

And  a  long  trail  of  light  to  thee  descending  down  ; 

If  in  thy  smoke  it  ends,  their  glories  shine  ; 

But  infamy  and  villanage  are  thine. 

Then  what  I  said  before  is  plainly  show'd, 

The  true  nobility  proceeds  from  God  : 

Not  left  us  by  inheritance,  but  given 

By  bounty  of  our  stars,  and  grace  of  heaven. 

Thus  from  a  captive  Servius  TuUus  rose. 

Whom  for  his  virtues  the  first  Romans  chose 

Fabricius  from  their  walls  repell'd  the  foe. 

Whose  noble  hands  had  exercised  the  plough; 

From  hence,  my  lord  and  love,  I  thus  conclude, 

That  though  my  homely  ancestors  were  rude, 

Mean  as  I  am,  yet  I  may  have  the  grace 

To  make  you  father  of  a  generous  race : 

And  noble  then  am  I,  when  I  begin, 

In  virtue  clothed,  to  cast  the  rags  of  sin. 


i20 


«ABLE8. 


If  poverty  be  my  uporaided  crime. 
And  you  believe  in  heaven,  there  was  a  time 
When  He,  the  great  controller  of  our  fate, 
Deign 'd  to  be  man,  and  lived  in  low  estate : 
Which  He  who  had  the  world  at  his  dispose, 
If  poverty  were  vice,  had  never  chose. 
Philosophers  have  said,  and  poets  sing, 
That  a  glad  poverty's  an  honest  thing  : 
Contant  is  wealth,  the  riches  of  the  mind. 
And  happy  he  who  can  that  treasure  find  : 
But  the  base  miser  starves  amidst  his  store. 
Broods  on  his  gold,  and  griping  still  at  more. 
Sits  sadly  pining,  and  believes  he's  poor. 
The  ragged  beggar,  though  he  wants  relief, 
Has  not  to  lose,  and  sings  before  the  thief. 
Want  is  a  bitter  and  a  hateful  good. 
Because  its  virtues  are  not  understood  : 
Yet  many  things,  impossible  to  thought, 
Have  been  by  need  to  full  perfection  brought : 
The  daring  of  the  soul  proceeds  from  thence, 
Sharpness  of  wit,  and  active  diligence  : 
Prudence  at  once,  and  fortitude,  it  gives. 
And,  if  in  patience  taken,  mends  our  lives  : 
I*or  even  that  indigence  that  brings  me  low. 
Hakes  me  myself,  and  Him  above,  to  know  ; 
A  good  which  none  would  challenge,  few  would 
choose, 

A  fair  possession,  which  mankind  refuse. 

*  If  we  from  wealth  to  poverty  descend. 
Want  gives  to  know  the  flatterer  from  the  friend. 
If  I  am  old  and  ugly,  well  for  you, 
No  lewd  adulterer  will  my  love  pursue ; 


THE  Wll'Z  OF  bath's  TALE.  221 

Nor  jealousy,  the  bane  of  married  life, 
Shall  haunt  you  for  a  wither'd  homely  wife  : 
For  age  and  ugliness,  as  all  agree, 
Are  the  best  guards  of  female  chastity. 

'  Yet  since  I  see  your  mind  is  worldly  bent, 
I'll  do  my  best  to  further  your  content : 
And  therefore  of  two  gifts  in  my  dispose, 
Think,  ere  you  speak,  I  grant  you  leave  to  choose  } 
Would  you  I  should  be  still  deform' d  and  old, 
Nauseous  to  touch,  and  loathsome  to  behold; 
On  this  condition,  to  remain  for  life, 
A  careful,  tender,  and  obedient  wife, 
In  ali  I  can  contribute  to  your  ease. 
And  not  in  deed,  or  word,  or  thought,  displease  ? 
Or  would  you  rather  have  me  young  and  fair. 
And  take  the  chance  that  happens  to  your  share  ? 
Temptations  are  in  beauty  and  in  youth, 
And  how  can  you  depend  upon  my  truth  ? 
Now  weigh  the  danger  with  the  doubtful  blise, 
And  thank  yourself,  if  aught  should  fall  amiss.' 

Sore  sigh'd  the  knight,  who  this  long  sermoa 
heard : 

At  length,  considering  all,  his  heart  be  cheer'd : 
And  thus  replied  :  '  My  lady  and  my  wife, 
To  your  wise  conduct  I  resign  my  life  ; 
Choose  you  for  me,  for  well  you  understand 
The  future  good  and  ill  on  either  hand  : 
But  if  an  humble  husband  may  request, 
Provi'de  and  order  all  things  for  the  best ; 
Yours  be  the  care  to  profit  £>nd  to  please, 
And  let  your  subject  servant  take  his  ease.' 


323 


FABLES. 


*  Then  thus  in  peace  (quoth  she)  concludes  the 
strife, 

Since  I  um  turn'd  the  husband,  you  the  wife : 
The  matrimonial  victory  is  mine, 
Which,  having  fairly  gain'd,  I  will  resign. 
Forgive,  if  I  have  said  or  done  amiss, 
And  seal  the  bargin  with  a  friendly  kiss  : 
I  promised  you  but  one  content  to  share, 
But  now  I  will  become  both  good  and  fair. 
No  nuptial  quarrel  shall  disturb  your  ease, 
The  business  of  my  life  shall  be  to  please  : 
And,  for  my  beauty,  that,  as  time  shall  try, 
But  draw  the  curtain  first,  and  cast  your  eye.' 

He  look'd,  and  saw  a  creature  heavenly  fair 
In  bloom  o%outh,  and  of  a  charmJng  air  : 
With  joy  he  turn'd,  and  seized  her  ivory  arm, 
And,  like  P3'gmalion,  found  the  statue  warm. 
Small  arguments  there  needed  to  prevail ; 
A  storm  of  kisses  pour'd  as  thick  as  hail. 
Thus  long  in  mutual  bliss  they  lay  embraced, 
And  their  first  love  continued  to  the  last : 
One  sunshine  was  their  life,  no  cloud  between, 
Nor  ever  was  a  kinder  couple  seen. 

And  so  may  all  our  lives  like  theirs  be  led ; 
Heaven  send  the  maids  young  husbands,  fresh  in  bed; 
May  widows  wed  as  often  as  they  can. 
And  ever  for  the  better  change  their  man 
And  some  dcvodVing  plague  pursue  their  lives 
Who  will  not  well  be  govern' d  by  their  wives  I 


CHARACTER    OF    A  GOOD 
PARSON. 


A  PARISH  priest  was  of  the  pilgrim  train  ; 

A.n  awful,  reverend,  and  religious  man. 

His  eyes  diffused  a  venerable  grace, 

And  charity  itself  was  in  his  face. 

Kich  was  his  soul,  though  his  attire  was  poor 

(As  God  had  clothed  his  own  ambassador) ; 

For  such  on  earth,  his  bless'd  Redeemer  bore. 

Of  sixty  years  he  seem'd ;  and  well  might  last 

Too  sixty  more,  but  that  he  lived  to  fast ; 

Refined  himself  to  soul,  to  curb  the  sense, 

And  made  almost  a  sin  of  abstinence. 

Yet  had  his  aspect  nothing  of  severe, 

But  such  a  face  as  promised  him  sincere  : 

Nothing  reserved  or  sullen  was  to  see, 

But  sweet  regards  and  pleasing  sanctity ; 

Mild  was  his  accent,  and  his  action  free. 

With  eloquence  innate  his  tongue  was  arm  *d, 

Though  harsh  the  precept,  yet  the  preacher  charm* di 


224  CHARACTER  OF  A  GOOD  PARSON. 


For,  letting  down  the  golden  chain  from  high. 
He  drew  his  audience  upward  to  the  sky  : 
And  oft  with  holy  hymns  he  charm'd  their  ears 
(A  music  more  melodious  than  the  spheres) : 
For  David  left  him,  when  he  went  to  rest, 
His  lyre  ;  and,  after  him,  he  sung  the  best. 
He  bore  his  great  commission  in  his  look, 
But  sweetly  tempered  awe,  and  soften'd  all  ho 
spoke. 

He  preach' d  the  joys  of  heaven,  and  pains  of  hell, 
And  warn'd  the  sinner  with  becoming  zeal ; 
But  on  eternal  mercy  loved  to  dwell. 
He  taught  the  gospel  rather  than  the  law, 
And  forced  himself  to  drive,  but  loved  to  draw : 
For  fear  but  freezes  minds  ;  but  love,  like  heat. 
Exhales  the  soul  sublime  to  seek  her  native  seat. 

To  threats  the  stubborn  sinner  oft  is  hard : 
Wrapp'd  in  his  crimes,  against  the  storm  prepared  | 
But  when  the  milder  beams  of  mercy  play. 
He  melts,  and  throws  his  cumbrous  cloak  away. 
Lightning  and  thunder  (Heaven's  artillery) 
As  harbingers  before  th'  Almighty  fly  i 
Those  but  proclaim  his  style,  and  afisappear  ; 
The  stiller  sour.-d  succeeds,  and  God  is  there  ! 

The  tithes  his  parish  freely  paid,  he  took. 
But  never  sued,  or  cursed  with  bell  and  book : 
With  patience  bearing  wrong,  but  offering  none, 
Since  every  man  is  free  to  loose  his  own. 
The  country  churls,  according  to  their  kind 
(Who  grudge  their  dues,  and  love  to  be  behind), 
The  less  he  sought  his  offerings,  pinch'd  the  more; 
And  praised  a  priest  couteated  to  be  poor. 


CfiAjCACTER  OF  A  GOOD  PARSON.  QM 

Yet  of  his  little  he  had  some  to  spare, 
To  feed  the  famish' d,  and  to  clothe  the  bare : 
For  mortified  he  was  to  that  degree, 
A  poorer  than  himself  he  would  not  see. 
*  True  priests,'  he  said,  '  and  preachers  of  the  word« 
Were  only  stewards  of  their  Sovereign  Lord  ; 
Nothing  was  theirs,  but  all  the  public  store, 
Intrusted  riches,  to  relieve  the  poor ; 
Who,  should  they  steal  for  want  of  his  relief, 
He  judged  himself  accomplice  with  the  thief.* 

Wide  was  his  parish,  not  contracted  close 
In  streets,  but  here  and  there  a  straggling  house ; 
Yet  still  he  was  at  hand,  without  request. 
To  serve  the  sick,  to  succour  the  distress'd. 
Tempting,  on  foot,  alone,  without  affright, 
The  dangers  of  a  dark  tempestuous  night. 

All  this  the  good  old  man  perform 'd  alone. 
Nor  spared  his  pains :  for  curate  he  had  none  : 
Nor  durst  he  trust  another  with  his  care ; 
Nor  rode  himself  to  Paul's,  the  public  fair, 
To  chaffer  for  preferment  with  his  gold. 
Where  bishoprics  and  sinecures  are  sold  : 
But  duly  watch' d  his  flock  by  night  and  day, 
And  from  the  prowling  wolf  redeem' d  the  prey, 
And  hungry  sent  the  wily  fox  away. 

The  proud  he  tamed,  the  penitent  he  cheer' d. 
Nor  to  rebuke  the  rich  offender  fear'd. 
His  preaching  much,  but  more  his  practice  wrought 
(A  living  sermon  of  the  truths  he  taught) : 
For  this  by  rules  severe  his  life  he  squared. 
That  all  might  see  the  doctrine  wb\ch  they  heard : 


120 


FABLES) 


There,  as  his  dream  foretold,  a  cart  he  foB  nd, 
That  carried  compost  forth  to  dung  the  ground. 
This  when  the  pilgrim  saw,  he  stretch*  d  liis  throati 
And  cried  out  "  Murder !"  with  a  yelling  notei 
'*  My  murder' d  fellow  in  this  cart  lies  dead, 
Vengeance  and  justice  on  the  villain's  head ! 
You,  magistrates,  who  sacred  laws  dispense, 
On  you  I  call  to  punish  this  offence !" 

*  The  word  thus  given,  within  a  little  space. 
The  mob  came  roaring  out,  and  throng' d  the  place. 
All  in  a  trice  they  cast  the  cart  to  ground, 

And  in  the  dung  the  murder' d  body  found, 
Though  breathless,  warm,  and  reeking  from  the 

wound.  ^ 
Good  Heaven,  whose  darling  attribute  we  find 
Is  boundless  grace  and  mercy  to  mankind. 
Abhors  the  cruel ;  and  the  deeds  of  night 
By  wondrous  ways  reveals  in  open  light ; 
M-urder  may  pass  unpunish'd  for  a  time, 
But  tardy  justice  will  o'ertake  the  crime: 
And  oft  a  speedier  pain  the  guilty  feels ; 
The  hue  and  cry  of  Heaven  pursues  him  at  the 
heels, 

Fresh  from  the  fact ;  as  in  the  present  ease : 

The  criminals  are  seized  upon  the  place : 

Carter  and  Host  confronted  face  to  face. 

Stiff  in  denial ;  as  the  law  appoints, 

On  engines  they  distend  their  tortured  joints : 

So  was  confession  forced,  the  offence  was  known. 

And  public  justice  on  th'  offenders  done. 

*  Here  may  you  see  that  visions  are  to  dread  | 
And  in  the  page  that  follows  this,  I  read 


CHARACTER  OF  A  GOOD  PARSON.  22/ 


Had  Richard  unconstrain'd  resign'd  the  throne, 

A  king  can  give  no  more  than  is  his  own, 

The  title  stood  entail' d,  had  Richard  had  a  son. 

Conquest,  an  odious  name,  was  laid  aside  ; 
Where  all  submitted,  none  the  battle  tried. 
The  senseless  plea  of  right  by  ProvideHce 
Was,  by  a  flattering  priest,  invented  since. 
And  lasts  no  longer  than  the  present  sway, 
But  justifies  the  next  who  comes  in  play. 

The  people's  right  remains  ;  let  those  who  dara 
Dispute  their  power,  when  they  the  judges  are. 

He  join'd  not  in  their  choice,  because  he  knew 
Worse  might,  and  often  did,  from  change  ensue; 
Much  to  himself  he  thought,  but  little  spoke, 
And,  undeprivcd,  his  benifice  forsook,  [stretch'd. 

Now,  through  the  land,  his  cure  of  souls 
And  like  a  primitive  apostle  preach 'd  : 
Still  cheerful,  ever  constant  to  his  call ; 
By  many  follow'd,  loved  by  most,  admired  by  all. 
With  what  he  begged,  his  brethren  he  relieved, 
And  gave  the  charities  himself  received  : 
Gave,  while  he  taught,  and  edified  the  more, 
Because  he  show'd  by  proof,  'twas  easy  to  be  poor, 
He  went  not  with  the  crowd  to  see  a  shrine ; 
But  fed  us  by  the  way  with  food  divine. 

In  deference  to  his  virtues,  I  forbear 
To  show  you  what  the  rest  in  coders  were  : 
This  brilliant  is  so  spotless  and  so  bright, 
He  needs  no  foil,  but  shines  by  his  ovt  n  proper  lighti 


TUB  END. 


INDEX. 


Memoir  of  the  Life  and  Writings  of  Dryden     «  v 
Dedication.    To  her  Grace  the  Duchess  of  Or- 
mond  :  with  the  Poem  of  Palamon  and  Arcite  1 

Palamon  and  Arcite  ;  or,  The  Knight's  Talc. 

Book  I.        .         .         .         .  .9 

Book  II.       .         .         .         .  *  .31 

Book  III.      .         .         .         .  .53 

Sigismonda  a,n^  O'nscardo         .         .         ,  Ql 

The  Cock  and  the  Toj ;  or,  The  Tale  of  the 
Nun's  Priest     .  .  .  .  ,  US 

Theodore  and  Honoria    *         .         •         •  145 

The  Flower  and  the  Leaf ;  or,  The  Lady  in  the 
Ainour.   A  VL«ion       .         .         ,         .  ]6l 

Cymon  and  Iphigenia      .         .         .  ,183 

The  Wi^e  of  Bath.    K^i  Tnie    .         ,         .  2#J 


i 


